You said you couldn’t stay
You’re no doctor
(more) Got no miracle bag
I said you shouldn’t stay
If you think
This mystery needs
This sickbed ain’t no casket.
In darkness, sound takes shape. Voices curve and curl around corners, slip through doors parted like lips.
A song, in the dark, becomes a trellis. Thought and desire threading through it, blooming upward, reaching toward heaven, bumping into ceiling and curving down again.
In darkness, words swell into worlds.
A whisper becomes a steep, vanishing staircase. Don't look down. Don't reach up - the overhead bulb is broken. You may cut your fingers, you may lose your grip on the rail. It's slippery as it is.
In darkness, mirrors swallow the stiff shapes of daylit worries.
Shut the door all the way, pull the nightlight out of the socket. Sit on the cool floor. The mirror, yawning blankly, will forgive you. This time.