untitled

it is not 
til I am asleep
that I can hear it,
like a distant animal,
it awakens me.
this solitude
that does not confront me
in the daylight
comes with the high moon
to spite me
a vampire with blood rage
thirsting
it eats away at the happiness
not allowing for truth
the reality that some things
are best forgotten
shackled to amensia
locked away in a tomb of forgotten 
and in my catacombs of sleep 
I miss you so much
though I never knew you
nor you me
but I can feel it there
like an insect bite healing
and I want it to heal
but I need it to hurt
so I can remember
that there is something worthy
of memory