The streetlights flouresce, my window distorts their halos.
Casting the shadows on that one tree that mocked me with evil faces in its branches, in the nighttimes of my childhood.

A man crosses the street at one in the morning- his gait sloppy and his limbs numb with alcohol.
He might have seen me watching but I can’t be sure. Like the unloved child of a king and queen I watch, melancholic, from my tower.

The naked tree shivers, frost sleeps upon the roof of my father’s car.
My mother’s shadow yawns as key meets lock; awoken by the porch-lights, it is long past its bedtime. She tiptoes into the house, I know where she has been.

The world is as one in the night; daytime strangers melt into one another. Houses into concrete into tarmac into crab-apple-trees.
The sky regresses to its pitch-black begginings, and I regress to a frightened child.
One day it will light up when planets flux and stars burst, though I may never grow up.