Under the optimistic streetlamp
I stand waiting in the dark.
My imagination makes presence
Out of the ever changing night time.
Crawling out of craft-able dark colors
I know you are no monster but
My mind is unchained when
The world in this hour is so moldable.
Only if these self conceived figures
Found peace in sublimation
Would I be eager to drown my skin
In the play dough my mind crafts with.
I do not venture out.
It is too crowded in the empty dark
Of midnight’s whiteboard after
All level headed expo markers
Capped their heads on pillows.