All hail the first light, dedicated to those who survived the night.
Like the woman who lays there bleeding, hope receding, doctors lay their verdict down gently, but either way it’s a sentence,
like the one with the prevalent thoughts that overpower the everyday, internal power struggle to keep unseen forces at bay,
or the man on the street, scraping a living from the pavement, marking out a circle of protection with fag butts and coins to block out the noise of a childhood that still stabs you in the dark.
All hail the survivors of the night.