You lie
scrunched up in bed
newspaper grey
dead-fished with dread.
that ancient dragon
has charred you black.
But I can see the flames of you
where you only see the embers.
And I know you’re coming back
once you remember that you want to.

And I know
How it feels.
That self-erasing sorrow.
The world is slipping out from under you and your skin feels too loose and your muscles feel too tight and sounds hurt and lights blind and pierce and how has this become my life?
I know that wish
To never have been
To never have soiled the worlds’ sheets with your muck.
Lock me up in a forest of thorns and let me sleep for a hundred years.
Like a whimpering baby rat left out in the rain.
And I want to
Need to
Hold you
It’s not your fault
It’s not your fault.
But like a frog
My fingers burn your skin
You flinch away
further in
And no
Open Sesame
Is going to let me through
Only you can hack your way
Out of that cave
Where the spiders cackle in the corner
And you want to burn up the world for refusing your wish to leave.
How it pains me that
I can no more show you the way
Than reason with light.
All I can say is
Be patient and wait
Knowing how futile words are when
Has poured ink in your eyes.

The day will come when
The glue will loosen and you will emerge from your
Pillowy prison.

And then, of course, the real work begins.

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