I'd rather have scars
than tattoos.
Your relationship with scars is different,
natural. Scars are not obnoxious -
They tell a story that no ink could.
And gradually,
they fade.
Quiet, but still there, until
you don't need them anymore.
The little reminders they sent you
over the years
have become part of you now,
absorbed into your skin.

The ringing from the piano fades,
as I watch the dance of my trembling fingers
come to a halt.

I thought I wanted to sing
but the melodies are trapped in my throat,
and soulless

Then the notes begin to slide down the page,
no longer able to compete with the
Suffocating silence

Everything has lost its colour,
Even on the sunny days.
I'm almost certain that the lake used to be bluer,
that your eyes used to burn brighter.

Perhaps it's just a blurry lens,
But I fear my vision's changed

I wish I was afraid of heights.
Or guns, or spiders. Anything.

I don't even look
both ways when I cross the road,
anymore.
If I get hit,
No loss, no gain.
Anyone reading this would think I'm insane

But I am scared of one thing -
Terrified.
And that's my own name.

Trapped long enough
and the outside becomes a blur.
There's life beyond these walls,
But nothing left in my world.

If I could just recall
The sun's warming touch,
Or a child's beaming smile,
Perhaps I'd find a reason to keep going for a while.

But here there's only dark;
The world and I, miles apart,
Emotions numbed and reality crushed
Time swings to the heavy beat of my heart,
Slowing.
And I hear the last bolt slam shut -
This meaningless existence,

Closing.

Emptiness.

On the floor in the dark room,
Paralysed.
The occasional lightbulb flicker
Brings some hope back to my blue-glazed eyes,
But it's a mere distraction.

I imagine that the lightbulb can see;
Awake when it's shining,
Otherwise asleep.
In the light I seem free,
My body moves. My voice, it speaks,
Speaks like the one it once belonged to,
Before the locked room lost its key.

The bulb will never see
The ******* the ground,
Or the shelves that collapse
Silently, as tears tie her down.

So why am I surprised,
That the lightbulb never stays?
Through its eyes, the room is a palace
With a princess, troubles seemingly erased.
How would it know of the dungeon
That is formed where she lays?

Darkness, once more.