Rain.
Rain isn't sad
but the word comes to my head
when I don't know what else to say.

In this dark room,
in this bed that offers me
no sleep or comfort,

In this jumper
I feel my body shaking.
In this warm jumper,
I feel the shivers moving
beneath it.
It's like they're restless,
Or like they're alive,
But they never try to escape.
They hold me like they need me,
I feel them moving under the fabric.

In this dark room
I find some comfort,
All the comfort I have,
I find
in the ends of my sleeves.

Cold fingers gripping,
Thank God, or anyone,
For the ends of my sleeves.
I found a place to put my tears.

Either there,
Or waiting in the mid-lengths of my hair.

There's still rain in my hair,
At least I have that,
In this bed,
In this dark room.

I can't see where the walls end,
But I like to imagine that they could reach on forever into the night,
That everything could be everything,
Or that everything could be nothing,
Something like that.

I like to imagine what it would feel like
to not have to think,
But it's too much to think about.

In this bed,
In this jumper,
My body doesn't understand.

I realise that now,
Oh wow,
Only now
I realise.
That my body has just been following me around.

Only now I realise,
That we all just follow the words
in our voices and in our heads,
That we all just
let our bodies
become the shadow of our minds.

All the places I have taken this body.

Oh wow,
oh wow.

(Shhhh.)

I wonder if silence could ever even contemplate
that his lack of words
might cause my eyes
to behave like this.
Or this stupid
way the air flows through my lips now,
Like it's broken, or made of something
that is not like air at all.

Or her, or him, or anyone or anything.

But no, he seems so kind.

This dark room.

So many times I have tried to step out of this.
I've tried to make space enough,
to look back
from afar.

Like I do with the others,
I've done it for them,
So many times.
It's what I am.

But here it's impossible,
Just because it's me,
It's like I can't leave,
Like I've got my back to my own self.

If I could move away,
I know what I'd see,
I could tell you,
But it's not the same as seeing it.

Torture
torture
torture
torture

Silent, secret, hidden
torture.
'Harmless',
Recurring, lurking,
From nothing
torture.

Torture.

Undeniable,
That it's cruel torture.

The wounds healed
by nothing more than a smile.

That's the worst,
Absolutely that's the worst.
A smile, a word,
Then
healed.

Not a mark left.

Forgotten.
Clean.

Safe,
Peaceful,
Innocent and
ignorant.

Forgive myself,
Forget myself.

Completely unprepared each time it returns.
Nothing is safe.
Nothing is clean.

In this dark room,
Now here I am,

Tears that don't reach past my nose.
The worst kind.

When will it be that I forget this moment again?

Waiting for the blindness.
Denial.
Security.

In this jumper I'm alone,
In this bed,
In this dark room.

In this body I'm alone.

It hurts to see that moment,
In my head
and on the back of my eyelids,
On the blackness in this room.

I see the green,
I see the tent.

Different darkness,
Different black,
Where shapes lived,
Or something,
Or feeling,
Or movement,
Or stillness,
Something lived there,
Not like now,
Different.

I was least alone in my body
then.
Right then,
I see it now,
It was then.

In this dark bed,
I touch my hands,
Not cool but warm
I can hardly bear to touch them,

More that anything in this room,
I hate the warmth
in these hands.

Bizzare.
A strange feeling of fear.

If were to open that curtain,
I might find nothing more outside my window
than wall,
Endless wall.
Not even red, but a dull cream,
In the windows,
In the doors.

I need it now,
I need to hear rain,
Really I need it.

Wind.
I need to hear wind.

A sick feeling,
Outside this dark room,
This house,
So quiet and still,
I get this sick feeling in my stomach.

I need to know somehow,
That the world is alive,
Outside of this bed,
This dark little room.

I need to hear the world again.

Pleading.

One short moment,
Out of this window,
I breathe in the world,
Not a wall but a world.

I find it cooler here,
In the street,
There are silent houses,
Stillness,
The street lights are too warm,
I can't breathe deeply enough,
I can't taste the air,
This feeling of thirst,
But I can't taste the air.
None of it's cold enough,
None of it moves enough.

I want the world to take me
but I barely feel the touch of it.

The black is almost better.

In this dark room,
In this bed,
In this jumper.
I long for the rain,
For wind and air
and cars in the night.

In this dark room,
I see far less than I'd like to.
I just want to know
that the world outside is breathing.