I am the rainchild. 

I am the darkness in the corners

And the mysteriousness of what lies under the stairs

And the cobwebs under the cabinets.

I’m the fear of something lurking in the dark

And the lurking thing itself.

I am the devilchild.

I am the tingling pangs of anxiety

And the harsh chills of terror

And the twisting tornado of fear of the unknown.

I am the pained shock of stepping on a nail

And the nail itself piercing through the foot.

I am the duskchild.

I am the vast, empty loneliness

And the deep, gnawing sadness

And the sorrowful grief of lament.

I am the restricting fear of being rejected

And the cruel rejection itself.