Witching Hour
I lie awake at 2am, feeling the familiar wash of cold sweat; the sour, stale fear taste in my mouth.
I write these entries in the dark, in my head, and I wait.
I watch the long minutes of the darkest hour tick past, and yet I dread the dawn. The ghosts and echoes fill my head, but I'm torn between the quiet stillness of the night and the frenetic glare of day.
And I file this as NTR - nothing to report.
I write these entries in the dark, in my head, and I wait.
I watch the long minutes of the darkest hour tick past, and yet I dread the dawn. The ghosts and echoes fill my head, but I'm torn between the quiet stillness of the night and the frenetic glare of day.
And I file this as NTR - nothing to report.