In The Dead Of Night

The cold flows through you, every fibre of your soul aching with the sudden shiver,
A million eyes transfixed on you, accusing you silently,
The feeling of a thousand hands grabbing at you, Willing you to fall into bleakness.

You fall to the ground, a tear falling down your pale cheek,
Then you feel familiar hands lifting you up,
A familiar whisper in your ear.
A familiar kiss that won't leave you,
And all the voices dissapear.

It's hard, being different,
But that person will always be there to hold you in the dark.