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Darkness of the mind, just an inkblot of poison fills the jar.

Undo the blinds, can you still see the faint sunshine that filters through.

Light and dark, unmatched playmates in shadowy playgrounds.

Run your hand along this length of rope or the metallic cool of a gun.

Will it be tonight, that the fingers will curl into the familiar hollow and pick up.

Will it be tonight, that the phone will be switched off and eyes shut tight.

Will it be tonight, that there will be a note left behind.

Please don’t let it be tonight, or any other night.

I’m here praying that you’ll live through these terrifying times.

Please hold on.

Don’t let your starlight eyes lose their glimmer in the dark.


Play hide and seek with me, the favourite game of every child.

Teach me how to find not with the eyes but the heart.

There is a warmth lingering in this stillness that I am in want for.

Stay, please stay in gentle patience until my fingertips align themselves with yours.

Lean in, whisper goodnight to the flecks of light outside.

Know that home lies in the crook of my collarbone.


To be physical is not my demand, yet I will reach in myself a desire to reach out to you, if doing so will keep you safe. I will wrap my arms around in fierce affection, complete the space between fingers and pray my hardest to never let go.

There is a different pain, slow and terrifying, in watching the people you care suffer.

It has always been about you, is what you claim, that the wrongness of things persist. Never do you consider yourself a smile or a pocketful of bright, nor the velvet cool of a nocturnal’s shadow. Both have their strengths and beauty, but in yourself you are a stone drowning in a hidden pool.

The constant picking on sleeves and the hemline, how deep is the ache to tear them away. So many threads pulled taut, adjusted every moment or two. Strings weaved in order to purport a clever disguise. Patches of irrelevant cloth, threaded onto your back as temporary salves to save a facade failing.

You think, you truly think that you are pulling yourself together but I recognise that you are a sweater unravelling, and in time even my trembling figure can no longer support your breaking frame.

I am standing in front of you, in the same room with a heart screaming — yet all I can do in the end is watch your lungs choke on wool and inconsolable sorrow, and I am left behind with the mess of you.


Let me in, let me touch the crevices of your mind.

Tell me, and show me, what has been spoiled and undone.

I can’t piece these broken pieces back together, it’s as futile as keeping water in my cracked hands.

Yet show me the depth of your ugly. I promise to throw the rusted anchor down deep and stay, even when running from the seashore is always going to be easier.

There is a darkness I wish to know.

And it’s not yours alone.


You’re at your wits’ end. No need for me to see broken eyes or shaking fingers, to guess the erratic heartbeat. It began with a whisper before it transformed into a deafening roar. They drowned reason.

It hurts to watch. Yet I can’t let it go just like this.

Stranger you are, stranger you still will be. Don’t go. I can’t have this space rid of you.

Listen, let me listen. I have no remedy, but I will not turn at the sight of ugly.

These scars, these hurts, don’t leave them bleeding. I am here, the isolation you speak of is a lie concocted by the harm.

For if I could face the darkness for this person and that… why would I not, for you?

Newsflash: In a world so connected, we’ve found more ways to die.