I thought my room was the darkest thing next to a light until I was under my velvet blanket.
My velvet blanket consumes all light and breath.
Under it I don’t know if my eyes are shut or open and looking into the void of space.
And when I close my eyes I envision how the water scatters the sun in its reflection.
But the vastness of darkness terrifies me, for I know how easy it is to lose oneself in the vastness of loneliness.
And there are no stars under the velvet sky, nothing but an invisible soft touch that tells me I am somehow alive.
A world that creates its own breath, that consumes the same breath, that brings forth new breath for me to live.
And it holds all my dreams, my terrors and tears which my body must relinquish onto its surface.
I’m not afraid of my nightmares anymore, it’s only when I have to leave this room or when someone comes in I’m afraid.
In the real world I can only cope with the loneliness with extravagant daydreams that I believe will someday be real.
I’m the singer on the stage singing to all those who put me down in my life.
My one gift that will never die is my voice that sings not only with sound but passion.
I try not to blow all my chances of dreaming during the night, the time of day when my eyes close and my heart opens.
So I’m engaged and immersed in the fantasies I summon with open eyes, oblivious to the world or its demands.
Never really realising for years that I’m content when I can go home and converse with the soft light of the moon.
Afraid of the lights of the cars that seem to tear the air between my ears and their engines.
Like lightning their light is too bright against the shadows cast at night.
I have to learn to accept that dreams grow fertile on shadowy ground and white moonlight.
Every sound is amplified when I’m in my room.
But the more loud they become, I realise only the glass window separates my resting head from the cold air outside.
The sounds become part of my own world and I’m not as shut off as I had once thought.
No matter how much time I had hid from the world, I would never feel alive without feeling fear.
And it occurred to me, I wasn’t afraid of the fear of the world, but a fear of fear itself and what it could make me do.
I have spent too many painful, corrupted and lonely years wasting away mind, body and soul at the feet of fear.
Fear which births paranoia, paranoia which births disillusion, disillusion which brings the beginning of downfall.
Yet I escaped and looked into the darkness that shone with a great light; the great illusion reflected in the soulless vision of my own eyes.
Had I not known the dark orchestration of a hollow mind that orchestrates its own downfall, I would not have known the real danger lies when one fractures in two.