in a solarium by the sea

day 1.


they tell me that i need to feel things.

“We’re really worried about you.”
eyes round, blown wide
lips drawn taut in a thin line, voice defensive
you’d think they were the ones being cornered

scared. they’re scared.
restless in the silence they
don’t know how to breath in
the quiet

such a false pretense
they think i’m stupid
they think i don’t know
i make them uncomfortable

i can see the way
their eyes shift and lips twist
fingers twitch and breaths hitched
tiptoeing around as if
sound will shatter me

they want me to move on
but refuse to sit here quietly.

“It affects everyone differently.”
condescending in your two-faced hypocrisy
don’t you dare insult me
push me pull me try to mold me
send me packing
wrap up my life without me
watch from a distance
from a ‘safety’

watch you stutter and stammer
as i see impassively
you find me contagious
you’re afraid of what i make you think
of all the memories i bring

sitting here surrounded by boxes that
used to mean something your
voice rings in my head
“It will be good for you.”
out of sight out of mind; doesn’t it go?
you don’t know me
you never even tried.
polite smile smiling you showed up:
here to shove me to the door
the snick of it closing still echoes in my mind.

i was left standing: shut out from my home.

day 3.


they want me to send letters back.

pretend it’s all alright
some semblance of normalcy
“How are you settling in?”
lying on the floor
the cold stone tiles
gathering dust
cobwebs covering my nose
staring at the vine covered ceiling

i chose this, they want me to say
play along with their little charade
“Did you eat properly?”
let’s all act like we care.

surrounded by large windows
the golden light pouring in doesn’t make me happy
sunsets bring in the dark
and sunrises the day.
i lay on the floor
arms crossed over my stomach
still
like the corpse i might as well be

sometimes i think that
they want the letters just to see
if the silence
suffocates me

i’m all alone here
on this strange desolate rock, it’s just the
sound of the waves and
the heavy honey of the light and
me.
i wonder how long it
is before i
claw my skin off
in frustration

day 7.

i still smell the smoke in my dreams.

shuddering shaking wake up barely breathing
memories clogging my lungs
separated from my body so viscerally my
dreams still hold me underwater
drowning in the weight of
absence that
builds the bars of my golden cage

sunlight dripping in; the
morning has arrived
chilly air whistling through the broken windows
i can hear the sea

i look around me and
it’s all still the same.
the tiles still feel chalky under my bare feet
the dust is so thick it’s become a part of me
cracked white walls and broken lighting
shadows like living things
overgrown vines

just for a moment i
blink in the unfamiliarity
of what i expect to see and
my heart squeezes, my
eyes sting
what am i doing here?

day 11.


i know i can’t fight inevitability.

struggling against the tide will
only pull me down
tossed about by the wishes of family
it’s all i can do to
keep my head above the water
i can’t stop the bubble from popping
reality leaking into my imagined
sanctuary

pulled by my resignation
driven by the body’s need
i emerge into
sunlight.
sand squishing beneath my toes
my eyes smart in the light

it feels better than the heavy
air inside forcing itself down my
nose
the dull golden light making me
squint at moving shadows
the listless slather of
denial dragging at my feet
the thick taste of disuse in my
throat.

bereft of my four glass walls i
stand in empty air after a long time
vulnerable in the open
fighting the urge to look back i
walk down to the sea
the salty lemon drip of the
morning sun and the warm
humid air
the rush of the waves.

i almost forget you’re not here with me.
you haven’t been, for such a long time

day 19.

they know i don’t move for days.

lethargy shapes my bones and
i breathe in the settling silence
as the glass forgets i’m here
the light bends around me and
shadows pool at my feet
i don’t need to blink
the moisture comes easily

melding with the floor
rotting and degenerating into these tiles
like a dying thing; i
don’t know how to swallow this
that clogs my throat

i don’t remember how long it’s been
since i lay down here
no reason to move around i’m
cadaverous among unopened belongings
watching the dust shine in the light
like fairy lights.

sometimes i forget my heart is beating
i don’t have the energy to check,
am i still breathing?

i was doing so well yesterday.

day 23.

i’m kneeling in broken glass.

bent over into myself: crumpled
shaking, my head pressed into my knees
hands twisted pulling at my hair
tears streaming down my face
as i howl silently
anguish never once spoken
my cries never once given voice
just me a
picture of muted misery

so used to hiding my pain
like gashes hidden away
bleeding into my clean white shirt
bloody and battered
alone.
i still can’t get myself
to hear my own pain

something so pathetic
about sobbing in a cold dark corner
tears drying on my damp face
face hot, fingers cold
a forgotten little thing.

what’s one more gash
on the give of my skin
on the floor of these bathroom tiles
among all this broken glass.

day 29.

i think it was the finality that broke me.

the ceaseless unchanging silence tipped me
over the edge
crashing down like a chandelier
shrouded in this shattered broken glass
shredding my skin in the aftermath of
this strange grief that
haunts me

walking on this hardwood floor
trailed by bloody footprints
the lancing pain doesn’t make me wince
i walk on the broken glass like
it’s my punishment for falling.

sunlight isn’t going to shine on us again,
not like it used to.
splashing among the cold waves isn’t our destiny
it’s all just memories
faded like old paper
fragile
they don’t exude warmth anymore
they aren’t real anymore
how can they be
who’s ever heard of sustenance being just memories?

day 37.


i think my loneliness was written in the sky.

shadowed, hounded by inescapable inevitability
weighing down on my shoulders
pushing me into this sand
burying me upto my neck and
then further
and i bow to accept my
fate

my mind spiral and tumbles
lashes out
a wild untamed thing
feral; fledgling;
stumbling on its newborn legs
so unused to its claws that i
slash at myself
reopening barely healing scares watching this
blood drip down
on these old tiles

the sun shines on my ruined skin
my body a tapestry of
who i used to be
forever etched in i cannot
escape
this past.

i shall never again be pretty
my skin shall forever mark me as
ugly.
it shall always tell the tale that
the only thing i need to fear is
me.