a shadow man

he lives in the deepest of me
when im asleep he comes out most
in the darkness of the room
lurking behind the curtains of my dream
I tell my mom, she says my imagination plays me
sometimes he's in my room before bedtime
his long nails curl around the rim of the door frame
I scream a scream so loud it sends ripples across the hard dry walls of the hallway
but it's inaudible
like yelling on mute.
he speaks some days
and promises of the impossible
he promises to keep my mom safe
only if I never leave him.
the blinds are always down
the lights are always out.
you may think it's easier to sleep
but he doesn't let me.
the shadowman wears a cape of darkness
and he disappears in it.
he sits on the lamps most days,
other days he paces the house clearing the morning light peeking through the blinds with his cape.
his eyes so dark sometimes you can see stars.
his body, glowing in such a dark light, it's impossible to figure where his arms end and long fingers begin.
it's beautiful in a way I must say
but it's funny, that i've grown fond of this creature
yet he only lingers
I feel him everywhere
crawling through my fingers
but I can never tell
if he is a drug or a disease
a part of me is now him.