Light tries to tumble through my window
But it only hits the glass
And bounces back into summer.
Curled up on my bed,
Huddled under the blanket
To hide the cuts and ribboned pain,
I see it throw itself
Again and again,
Hurling itself with rumbunctious abandon
To slap me in the face and throw me to the ground.

Meaningless.

The light cannot touch me now.

Night jasmine is sweet and beautiful
And scents the air with delicious perfume.
It hides in the cracks of the window wood,
Turning its mocking face
To grin at me through the glass.

Day and night hammer at the window
Whilst I hide in the half-light,
Caught in a purgatory with
Nobody to say mass for the tormented, broken soul
That resides in this room.

The air is thick with sour, stale mustiness,
A thin, needling pungent cloud
That reveals a hideous source
When you open its cupboard and
Tear back the stinking wrappers.

I shiver.

The rain cascades and mizzles and drizzles,
Misting and pouring all at once,
Drenching and soaking in the
Dead blood that seeps from within.

I have to cut these veins
To let the poison out,
But Death is gibbering under the bed
And licking each razor tooth
With a dripping, slobbering tongue.

It crawls up the wall behind my bed
And sits on my shoulder
Sneering scornful laughter.
This foul mist that hangs
Around is the ugly breath
Death coats me in as it sits on my shoulders
And squeezes my ears
So the knocking of friends on the glass
Is nothing but a heartbeat of
Half-hearted pity.

Could I stand in the light,
I would be a delighted princess
With her crown of moonpennies
And robes of gladness.

But all I can do is
Meet them palm to palm on either side of the glass
And try to return the shared joy
As they breath on the window
And draw me a smiley face.

My return is a water-beaded
Sad face
Because try as I might,
Death moves my finger as it writes on my behalf.

And I cannot break out of this raining room
Where friends who try to call
Are left unanswered to my ugly shame,
Or turn away in disgust
With a curse on their lips.

How can I claw out their hearts
With a window between us?
I do not know.
But since I have no more heart left to rip,
Then maybe Evolution is claiming reward
Elsewhere.

And it is surely better
To die here in this raining room
Than prolong the self-pity
And continue to hide from the summer sun
And night-flowering jasmine
And those I would love dearly
If I had the heart with which to do it.

But as long as I am confined to this raining room,
I know that I need not fear
Anybody having to scrape up my mess.