Answer:
My geometry is lost in the night to be found in daylight's break. The rigors of time have torn me to shreds, yet I stand to protect that which lies within. What am I?
What room do ghosts avoid?
When I point up itβs bright. When I point down itβs dark.
I run around the streets all day. Under the bed or by the door I sit at night, never alone. My tongue hangs out, waiting to be fed during the day. What am I?
Everyone asks for me but yet everyone hates to face me. For someone I am agony for others I am relief. Who am I?
Long and slinky like a trout, never sings till it's guts come out.