In the silence of my room, the darkness spreads,
where shadows dance and dread treads.
I feel the weight of an unseen eye,
not a guardian’s gaze, but one that can’t deny.
Every corner, every crease, might hide a judge,
so I light the night, still, I can’t budge.
The ceiling stares, a blank slate above,
I search it for mercy, find none to love.
Prayers spill from lips that faith forgot,
muttered in haste, tying my thoughts in knots.
Is He watching? Does He record my flaws?
In the quiet, every creak gives me pause.
Under the scrutiny of an unseen spy,
I keep the lights burning, too rattled to lie.
With every tick of the clock, I feel the strain,
of eyes that judge my hidden pain.
I say my prayers with a skeptic’s tone,
in this surveillance, I am never alone.
Maybe it’s just the echo of my fears,
amplified by the silence of the night’s spears.
But the thought plagues me, relentless and stark,
that somewhere, someone marks every mark.
So I’ll wait for the dawn, for the light to win,
hoping the morning will cleanse what’s been.
Yet each night returns, and with it my fear,
in the dark, the Watcher’s always near.