Crippling, might be an adequate word,

as my lungs heave, breathing in air that

never will satiate the bloodstream that

craves more, corrupted breaths wrack

this chest as I look around the room of

my childhood, I see it all. Surround me

with musical instruments and realms of

coloured cloth, I feel at home, sprung

floor and black curtains line the cavities

of this heart, no other place feels as real,

costumes that I have worn and masks

that have covered tear-stained faces lie

at my feet and they tell me to step forward,

out from the reverie of days past and days

that will be no more, push me into space,

the lack of air there would feel the same as

the toxic fumes that they ask me to breathe now.


Starlight will hurt less than profile spots and the

colour from supernovae will blind the attempts

of theatre gels, but I will miss home, I will miss

my home, I will miss you, I blend into the darkness,

translucent skin finally showing honest sentiment,

this body was injected with the darkness of the

night sky from day one, I was a glass doll that you

filled with every character you thought might work,

coloured sand filling the crevices between each

of my mismatched talents and shards of my disposition,

and as the colours ensnared one another it all turned

to black, with the reflective surfaces of hopes and dreams

playing the role of stars, glinting enthusiastically,

deceptively, cruelly amongst the darkness.


Tonight, there will be no stars. I stand beneath a smoggy

city sky and know that they are out there somewhere, maybe

I just haven’t found them yet, I’m sure I’m good for something.

I will hope for you, I will dream for you, I will fight til my last

breath if it would make you proud, I promise that I would be

good to you if you stay but you can’t so I guess it doesn’t matter.

I will dream for you, dream the little dreams of me, see straight

through pale skin to glimpse the darkness within, but this time

I will notice the galaxies, I will see the clouds and the solar flares

I will not resign myself to a monotone but instead appreciate that

black, like white, is made up of every colour and for you I will be

thankful, so thankful. I learned to see through your eyes, to feel

through your fingers, to speak through your tongue and let my final

words to you be that I am so, so grateful.


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