In the shadows of the night hands feel me, Pulling me to them.
Black nails scratch me.
My blood is absorbed in the sheets, my shirt, my blanket.

I wait for the darkness to come, to the calmness of the lack of feeling.
But it doesn't come. And I lie. Eyes open. Listen to myself breathing.

The man in the floor above screams. The hands are pleasant, soft and caressing. I let myself go with them. I smile. Thoughts of friends feel me and I miss them. The darkness wouldn't come.

I talk to myself, touch myself, caress. I think about them. About you. And again I can't, the nails come back and dig deeper now - into the flesh.

I turn on the light. Write a poem. Morning.

Fall asleep.