tell me a story?

faded, folded. torn up pages
covers drawn,
close.
thoughts thrice spelled aloud,
b r  e   a    t    h
lamp put out.

shelved beneath the bed,
there are no monsters here,
unless its me,
through my illustrated blindness,
i can not tell
picturing words i'll never read.

speaking thoughts inside me
you sight see fabled memories
in the cadence of childish naptime melodies.

only sunlit moth dots, dust moats, distract.
illuminated,
drifiting near
magnetic to my paper skin, reams
thin printed lullaby dreams
whispered words on drowsy ears,
through silent dusk,

the rustled hush of inked on wings.