sometimes strikes
like a bat slicing
through the dark with its wings
cunning and weightless
cutting through like a blade
tearing the flesh apart
exposing the bones

this terrible void
staring from the closet
lying there, between the clothes
slowly sucking at everything like a vacuum

whispers
that a voice
a mere voice
could restore order

and you reach for
the sparrow
and the butterfly

knowing
they will not save you.