Night Shadows


I am alone.
Emptiness, darkness, shadows and the hollow feeling of the buildings staring at me. The buildings seem so cold, the windows barren, as if the souls of the inhabitants have been sucked out and dissipated into thin air;

as if nothing lives inside any more.
An evil, watching nothingness, which is out to get me. This nothingness is barely kept at bay by the desolate shells which the buildings now are. Dead, dry and diligent. Waiting for me to get by them, so that they can creep up on me from behind. The still, warm and yet cold air choking me. Pressing in on me from all sides, but never actually attacking.

And then the darkness.
Darkness in the corners, darkness in the shadows, darkness, which isn't kept at bay by fragile, vile walls, but roams free in the streets. Shadows, which will creep into me, will attach themselves to my soul and darken everything I see. Shadows which long since lost their life and now live in tohu wa bohu*, too cold for young lovers to hide in and too corrupting for the most sinister politician to sneak in. I can not possibly survive this cold and endless night. Before dawn breaks I will have become a shadow myself. Soon I will be in the dark corners, the empty houses and the soulless windows.

I am alone.



* Emptiness and desert – Hebrean version of the Greek chaos. A place void of light and God's creative force.

I am alone.

I have descended into darkness; and when the dawn breaks, lone tear will show up on the eyelash - probably the last one - the last sign of weak being in my stiffed soul, being who can rejoice at sunrise. No. Sunrise is only for cute lovers and oversleeping managers to wake them up. Sunrise is for barking dogs and drowsy cats.

Like dust, like an atom; imperceptible and intangible; I roam from chamber to chamber. I see waking families and crying babies, I see those children' hugs before leaving to school, I see those youngsters hand in hand. I hear birds and prayers - and hatred fills my entity.

They say that it always happens like that at the beginning; after a while I won't feel anything.

I just wait for another dusk to come.

I am a shadow.

I am a shadow

Hiding in the deepest darkness, living by the dark side of light. I fear the sound of sun and joy, I hate the sparkling drops of water and I disgust the sunrays in the eyes of the golden haired girl.

One day ago,
In another life, in another world, in another time
I was light and joy. I laughed with them, the sun shone in my eyes too, and the golden haired girl was mine. We loved each other. That is why she lives. That is why I fed on her brother though she was the easier target.

As I sit here,
I wait for the day to pass. I wait and my hunger grows. I need the warmth, I need the feelings, I want to feel again and I want to glide slowly away with the spring stream. I do that when I sink my fangs into you throat, as they slowly go in through your sinews and flesh, and the warm stream of blood fills my mouth. I watch and enjoy as your eyes are opened in wonder, as you try to fight in order to break loose of my grasp, but it does not help you. It only gives me more pleasure as I feel my teeth gnaw against your bones and the wound widens. More blood spills into my mouth, and you die as I follow the sparkling spring stream.

But that will have to wait,
Now the only thing I can get is the lonely cat, which came to me for comfort and food. It got neither. I got both. As the day slips away and the sun sets, I leave the shadows and enter the darkness of my soul.

I am alive.

I am alive

within the inner grotesque which I have been gathering up unknowingly for years like a homeless child who picks up dust and crumbs of bread found on a causeway; does he realize why it is the way it is and where it leads?

Bit by bit, drop by drop, step by step; until I found a convenient ally who, or should I say which, made me feel strong and powerful; strong like a throng of warriors besieging and pillaging unworthy town, yes unworthy.. powerful like a council of judges in front of the eyes of a beggar who beg for pardon, yes beg.. he stole some loaf of bread from a baker! Will the homeless child, whose fortune forced him to pick up dust and crumbs of bread all along his measly life, know what to do, when he finds a loaf of bread. What he will feel? Will he share?

hah! He will feel powerful, amazing; he will challenge mountains, cross the rivers!

'tis just a loaf of bread, a measly loaf!.. - sometimes I can't help myself crying it out loudly but hopefully no one is capable of hearing it through the thick pitch like darkness surrounding me.

And still, tomorrow, when the dawn breaks, the housemaid will knock at her milady's bedroom door, but no one will open. Sunlight will glance through the windows and wind will wave the curtains.

I am trapped.