pause--do not exceed medication past 6 doses in 24 hours--resume

I dragged myself off from the couch because I thought I should put something down. I saw these pictures and I don’t really know how to articulate the feelings. But it’s very dark in my house, especially if I take the time to look around. When the sounds, typing click away, there is a sound of typing. That typing sound is clicking. There is clicking in the dark house. There is the sound. And its dark if we look around…

That repetition. That’s how I feel right now. Over and over in a loop that changes but not a lot. If it were enough I wouldn’t be sick, and I wouldn’t be drugged out. When I close my eyes I see flashes of knives and people humped over reading while looking down at the gutter. Then the music is a scene itself. It paints trees that dip along as we watch the stars and the night is cold. So I have to throw a blanket and let the warmth circle up, past the knees, up to my hands and I crouch. I try and move but if I do I feel the sting of the cold.

The curiosity builds. When there is a field of shrouded faces, and you wonder what all those faces are doing.

We climb over wired fences

Playing with each other’s hair,

While smiling at the deep crevasses,

Of those places shrouded in sleep.

When the guitars are droning onward,

And the sound is quiet and above.

The dial turned up just a little,

Enough to make me hide.

…we look through the darkness. In the house there is typing. We don’t know who is typing, but know that they are there.

---

someone else, the sound of the sea and spray of salt along the coast, we sailed searching for someone else