The Raven, A modern imagining

Midniight leaked through busted blinds Onto my couch, my books, my mind. I scrolled through posts I’d read before, Half asleep and feeling worn. Rain was ticking on the glass, Traffic hissed as people passed. The TV glowed a faded blue, Throwing ghosts around the room. Then a pounding shook my door, Sharp and sudden through the storm. I froze still beside my chair, Certain no one should be there. Maybe just a neighbor drunk, Maybe kids being punks. Still the knocking came once more, Heavy as a slamming drawer. I pulled the chain and cracked the door. Cold wind swept across the floor. Hallway empty, stale, and dim, Only buzzing fluorescent hymns. Then a shadow cut the light, Something huge and black as night Landed on my bookshelf tall Like it owned it all Not an owl or city crow, Not a bird I'd come to know. Its feathers looked like burned-out wire, Eyes alive like camera fire. It watched me with a patient stare, Like it saw straight through the air. I laughed once, uneasy, sore: "What are you looking for?" Then it spoke in gravel tone, Not quite human, something grown  One word dropped into the room Like a nail inside a tomb: “Nevermore.” I stood there with my mouth gone dry, Certain stress had cracked my mind. Maybe all the sleepless nights, Cheap motel days, neon lights, Memories I couldn’t drown Dragging chains across this town. Still the bird just stared once more, Silent now above the door. I thought about the one who left, The one whose hoodie still smelled fresh. The one who took all the light Disappearing overnight. So I asked with shaking breath, “Is this my death" Then the dark thing answered slow, Cold and flat: “Nevermore.” Thunder rolled beyond the glass. The room felt smaller by the pass. I paced circles on the rug, Heart kicking hard against my lungs. Pictures leaned along the wall, Old friends, old jobs, faded calls. Everything I couldn’t save Rose around me like a wave. I tried to joke, to break the spell: “Bird, you from some hidden hell? But it only blinked once more, Still as stone above the door. Then it scratched the wood below Like a judge preparing notes. The rain let up around two-thirty. Streetlights painted sidewalks dirty. Sirens cried somewhere in town, Lonely as a hunted hound. Still that thing remained in place, Watching every move I made. Every question that I wore Echoed back: “Nevermore.” I asked if I’d outrun my past, If these empty years would last. If my father’s rage and fear Would still follow me from here. If the drinking, if the shame, If the nights without a name Would release me from their claws Or keep me trapped forevermore. The bird leaned forward from its throne. For a second, fully grown In the flickering TV light, It looked endless, wide, alive. Not an animal at all, More like my grief made physical. Then it opened up its beak: “Nevermore,” it said to me. Morning crept across the floor. The bird still perched above the door. Coffee cooled beside my hand, Untouched like abandoned plans. Outside, cars groaned awake, People moved through smoke and rain. But inside that cramped room Time itself refused to bend. Now each night the screen burns blue, And that shadow stays in view. Sometimes when the city snores I still hear that single word. Not loud now, but low and sure, Like a wound without a cure. And I know deep in my core Some things leave us nevermore.