Switching Lights

You turn the light off I begin to bump into myself. God I am a strange shape in the dark - all that fat and sweat moving like eels, bones sticking out of my eyes, hair crawling this way and that. You turn the light back on; this time just a bedside lamp - a warm glow with a bit of red-eye. Damn I am lovely to behold, what’s that! I am looking through me into you while you are stirring my blood in a small kettle made of mud with your long, graceful fingers. We obviously need a different kind of light, one that lies while showing the truth. Street lamp-lights perhaps, all in a line, we can dash and hop through the darkness between them, it will be exhausting but illuminating. Until then, please turn the lights off. I can monster my own life.