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

Here

You see

The knife that will take

My life