Dawning Creations

The monster creeps in this old house, crawling amongst the darkest of shadows.

He’s clawing at the walls, and slamming solid, wooden doors. The fan blades wish for me, swishing to block out your howling.

The demon inside of you is kicking down walls and stomping on fragile hearts.

It’s a shame you won’t recognize.

Your heart is swallowed, disheartened at the bottom of the bottle beast.

You’re a degenerate genie, dwelling where the sun can never reach you.

Don’t you feel the loneliness?

Glass is cold.