i'm sleeping with a knife again
i'm just a drawing on the wall
sooner or later everything falls apart
every day a punishment
I have tried so hard to do right
fought to heal every hurt
every turn I take
leads me back to where I started from
all my dreams
they die on me
and I don't think
there's ever healing it
the days grow long
filled with empty hours
when I wake up alone
with these shadows as my only company
splinters of glass at my feet
silence in her white dress
like dust on books no-one reads
and beds no-one sleeps in anymore
(speechless nameless sleepless alone)
...the fog is rising
[Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)]