zand

There's a thing you never realise, Though I tell you all the time; The monsters in your closet Are the monsters from my mind. You rage within the walls you built With bleeding hands. You build them higher every day, Cos "No one understands". I touched your skin a few times, Always cold beneath the fears That shine behind your shuttered eyes, Illuminate with tears. Sometimes strangers reassure you For a moment, maybe two. I try and try but you just die, No matter what I do. Deaf to what I've thought to tell you, Maybe ten thousand times; That the monsters in your closet Are the monsters from my mind.

The light was searingly bright. Even through her closed eyelids she felt its force like a million red hot pin pricks. All she could see was a tender pink, illuminated from behind, so she tried to roll her eyes further back, seeking the darkness. This caused a deeper ache that, coupled with the burning from the sun, was what she imagined tattooing might feel like. The ground beneath her was traitorously solid and smelled of earthworms. The grass smelt fresh, felt young beneath her fingers as she absently tore it up. If she were less numbed, she would have wondered how it dared to be so green and springy and full of life. As it was she merely