There isn’t a night when I don’t envy the dead who have no secrets to dream about.
The late hours of the night blur the rational barrier between fear and anxiety. They are not the same; fear has a home, a fixed place of belonging, a world. Anxiety does not, anxiety is a bodiless thief that feeds on the insecurity of possibility The greater the possibility, the bigger the strain, the more anxiety wants to fill itself. I’m not scared of tomorrow, I’m anxious of a future that I can’t plan.
What would it feel like to be swallowed by the moon? Would our skin become a silvery gray? Would there be anything to brighten our night studded eyes? What if we pulled at it? What if we unraveled the moon’s threads, would it stop being round? Would we finally be able to sleep forever?
One more gash to start the flow
One more burn to ignite the blow
One more sip to drown the night
One more note until I am out of sight
The knife that will take