In Dark's Franchise - with Deliabear

Stolen shadows of the night,
Bestow on my brain a more familiar fright.
With tip of the pen in the dark's franchise
Often just narcistic puppets of moral decay,
Polluting my sonnets, ranting with insanity.  
Alone with their Atari and eye shade.    
Cutting-out gadgets for the asylum's zoo,  
Taking up space in my mind's portmanteau.
Clutching your lunatic heart to squeeze your mortal juice,
Confirming you are still alive, fodder for the worms.
Echoes of your ranting, spreading your black lullaby loose.