The Cave

The eye seeks light.

The eye seeks light

ravenously

the beacon to banish

uncertainty.

The pit in the stomach

loosened

the hairs on the neck

smoothed.

The pupils widen

desperately

tiny black mouths

keen to devour-

The milky moon

the dancing candle

the winking stars.

Use, abuse, adjust.

Quickly, now.

It is not the darkness

that the eyes fear-

and it’s not until

there’s nothing

when they aren’t sure

if they’re open or shut-

confused. Confounded.

Lost underground

and the candle is gone-

there’s no moon to see-

the stars are distant

memory-

They stare. Reach out-

and falter.

Your eyes fail you.

There is just blackness.

The cold touches

your skin

the dampness

like phantom’s fingers.

Tracing. Testing.

You know the space around you

is wide but

it’s growing tighter-

coming in to crush. Consume.

Something is dripping-

slick saliva off

stalactite fangs.

A chill settles deep

in your chest-

Your breathing grows

harsher. Mounting panic.

Trapped with nothing

but your imagination

at play like scribbling madmen

wielding bloody pens.

And the truth is clear:

what you fear is not the darkness

but the absence of the light.

For there are things

that see without it.

They see you.

But you-

You can’t see them-

coming closer.