Insidious Grief

Sometimes when everyone has gone
to sleep they come out. The creatures,
that crawl around, each with a little face.

They live in my brain, each a different but same face.
They scurry around, but are never gone,
never. They’re always there, the strange creatures.

Little legs, and little arms, little creatures
With little gray uniforms. All gray except the face.
Then day comes and they hide away, gone.

In my brain with you gone, creatures all come with your face.