My dreams, carefully twisted to horrors,
were strung through the bannisters
My foes hung like bats from the ceiling.
I’d played the mistress to the dark
for so long that I’d long since
forgotten what light was.
I wasn’t sure if Apathy really had a
gun or if it was just a bluff.
But I was certain I saw the gleam of a
blade at Optimism’s throat.
If you dip your fingers into the abyss,
don’t act surprised when it reaches
back out to pull you in.
There are no gray areas until you
draw up the lines,
and I am still scrubbing off the
despair that stuck to my soul like a
Although recovery is bright,
and love is pure,
Sometimes the dark still stops by to
throw a pillowcase of feathers in my
– BIATA, ‘the abyss is a childhood friend of mine‘