What It's Like In Here

My guard is on its way down now that the kids are snugly sleeping
All day I've fought it back and now it's creeping in...
The night is still, but my nerves buzz with unpleasant sensation.
He zooms around me like a fly completely unaware
I throw him the angry glance I wish I could give my pain
He's still talking but I can't take anything in.
The weight of my body on the bed is overwhelming.
Now he's beside me and the room's quiet.
"You don't know what it's like in here!", I scream at him.
His eyes widen at my volume, but return to normal when he realizes he's heard it before.
Then he nods "No. I don't."
We are silent for a long moment because there isn't anything else to say.
The TV comes to life, I am happy for the distraction.
We settle into ourselves and the shades of normal deepen all around.
Nothing is constant except for change.
I fought it all day, but not tonight.
I am warm and for these hours the world is only the four of us.