You slip in night because darkness is a type of coldness. A temperature where you feel somewhat safe. By feeling safe, you feel like you. You blend in with the night causing your shades to become temporary enough to expose them.

Tonight I’ll be looking at the blood moon and maybe I’ll think of you. But maybe I won’t and I probably won’t, but I guess that’s a chance you had to take.

I’d rather be the creep in the night and the fire that burns your eyes than the way you use and define life.

You speak in night, not because it’s night, but because it’s dark enough in theory that no one will see you.

I want you to look at me the way I look at the ceiling in the night. The way three am knows my name.