Tonight is a bad night.
Sick with the certainty that the stars are going out, and that my life will never be anything more than broken and empty, I feel small.
Small and alone.
Though somehow I feel even smaller on the inside.
Cliches pour through my mind like so much teenage chatter on a bus, and I want to scream at them to ‘like, shut up, like’.
It’s freezing, freezing, freezing, yet in nothing but a t-shirt I burn as if possessed with a fatal fever, both hot and cold.
In the corner of my eyes, or maybe just the corner of my mind, the laughter of shadows dance and disappear.
Infinitely tired, but I will not sleep.
Exhausted and spent, yet I pace and fidget, twitch and move constantly in restless indignation.
How such a large and empty house can press so closely upon me, to push in upon my mind, yet echo endlessly with unsettling sounds, escapes my understanding.
So strange to wish for nothing but tears, yet neither will I cry.
Every misery, imagined and remembered, plays endlessly on repeat on the iMax of my mental cinema.
A solo screening.