Whispers of the Night
In the blackest pit of midnight when the city holds its breath,
Moonlight claws at windowpanes, stripping dreams down to bone and myth,
Every hour hangs heavier, too swollen to break,
While silent corridors cradle the secret wars of the sleepless–
Shadows lengthen and twitch along peeling wallpaper,
Whispers burrow beneath beds, skitter along the crown moldings,
Echoing the ache of promises snapped in half,
The kind that lodge in memory like an abscess,
In these rooms where insomnia peels the wallpaper, where the hush is a verdict,
A heartbeat hammers wild in the ribcage, desperate for some mercy–
It knows a trespasser waits outside the perimeter of reason,
Something with the patience to unravel even the tightest grip on comfort.
The hum of the street dies, leaving only the fevered confessions of radiators,
A hundred minor noises morph into footsteps and warning,
Mistrust shapes the air, each breath a negotiation with panic,
As if the darkness itself is a living court,
Judging every past transgression, every half-truth told by daylight,
Nerves shiver, skin prickles, the body becomes a map of old shames,
And everywhere, those low voices, soft as moth wings,
Insist that fear is the only honest companion–
They trade stories of past betrayals, unburied regrets,
A choir of accusations stitched into the thick silence,
Begging for attention, whispering that nothing forgotten stays dead.
Eyes dart from corner to corner, cataloguing the flicker of movement,
Anxiety accumulates in the hollow places of the room,
Every shadow conspires to reshape itself as threat,
While reason collapses under the weight of what can’t be named,
Sleep is a myth, a bedtime story nobody here believes,
These whispers build their own mythology, one where morning never comes,
And the mind learns to fear its own capacity for invention–
Only when the first cracks of dawn bruise the sky,
And the hush is broken by the world returning to its script,
Does the ghostly parliament fall silent,
But their sentences linger, etched into the bones,
A record of every fear that survived the night.