i used hate the way i would be awake at four in the morning.
i remember the way everything used to feel so haunting and scary.
there were no words to describe how deep inside my mind i would sink into,
scared and afraid of no return.

but now,
oh now,
i love it.
i fell in love with the quiet.
there was no more worry or fear.

Miles upon miles,
Riddled with beds.
Tissues and soft hands,
To wipe my tears.
Piles upon piles,
Of blankets and food.
A nice, big bowl
Of serotonin.

What’s this glaze
over my eyes…

A heavy mist
with fingers…
that lingers.
A cataract that
dives and claws
into the black
of irises.

A film,
a veil,
a canvas botched
and vandalised
with arguing paints.
And indelible black
that sings of sadness,
highlights the aches
of dejection
and screams
betrayal.

shadows entangled so it happens
the oppressor and the oppressed
such an intimacy of pain terror and shame
in the quietness of the right hand the left hand
surrender to the cruelty of an exchange
to be or not to be delusional
this is a question
reality just an approximation of a terrifying
mystery without meaning

a beat of a heart alone in the dark
we have many songs but still little understanding
about the growing shadow lurking in the bright light

It's Friday night, and we're snug in a bed
     With bedding that's very thready.
The weekend is ours, but I think of work
     On Monday, and I miss you already.

You know, I think that maybe you were the right person at the wrong time


maybe you were the right person in the wrong lifetime