Here was safe.

Something short that I wrote.

“My clothes hung about me, all black and grey. The cupboard was surprisingly spacious, even for me. I adjusted my feet and found that the flooring was a little dusty. I made a mental note to clean it sometime. Meanwhile, my eyes adjusted. The dark fell upon my skin softly, like the embrace of a lover. Only a tiny slit of light invaded through the gap between the doors. I regretted not switching the light off. It was too late to do so now. I wouldn’t be able to bear being outside. I might fall and be paralyzed on the way to the switch, or break into tears. No, here was good. Here was safe. Here the world didn’t touch me, and I didn’t touch the world. There was only the darkness, my clothes, and me.

Suddenly, my ears noticed my fast breathing. Somehow no matter how much air I gulped I still felt short, as if the air flowed through my throat and disappeared through a hole in the back of my neck. I took a deep breath, and felt marginally better – although my lungs still felt empty. I wondered how long I coud stay here. Maybe I would sleep here. Maybe I could survive simply on gulping air and drinking in the infinite darkness, and remain here forever, till I fade into the blackness. But there was the problem of the light. As long as it kept shining I will never be at ease. I needed to switch it off. Bright and piercing, it called to me. Mocked me. Challenged me. But no. Here was good. Here was safe. Here I felt ready to cry and to bleed.”

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Are you upset?

“Are you upset again?”

Interesting question.

“Are you upset?”

“Again?”

 

No.

No, I am not.

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Gone.

The sky is dark

Again.

The thunder

Ominous.

 

The rain falls

Cold, biting.

It washes me clean.

I feel my sorrows fade

I feel my past recede.

My muscles and sinews loosen

I flow away with the rain

Until there is nothing left –

To feel, to be, to want.

 

I am gone.

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I Cannot Tell

I cannot tell

If this sound I hear

Is the rain on the street

Or the drizzle in my heart.

 

I cannot tell

If this chill I feel

Is the cold of the wind

Or the darkness within

 

Most of all, I cannot tell

If this pain I bear

Is my own insanity

Or not.

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Fall

A golden leaf tumbles

To the ground

The first of many.

The harbinger of the waning

Of the warm life of summer

Of the brightness of days.

A step closer to winter,

And a step closer to spring.

 

Would we be the pine,

Would we be the cypress?

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