Night

Night

Nights are the hardest. Drenched with anxiety over yet another night to be spent tossing and turning. A nightly routine predicated on the nagging fear of watching the clock yawn into the night, numbers falling off to be replaced by even more menacing ones. My heart beats faster. Unsure if I am more afraid of suddenly been caught awake in what are the sleeping hours or the fear that there is still much to be done.

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The Uncounted

The Uncounted

(TW) There are many of us who have learned to forget to remember. To speak with mouths closed, burying the resurrections of the past.

Only when the space feels safe, and rarely even so, do we reveal the hideousness that lies behind our eyes in those darkest of rooms. We have been called liars, drunk, careless, told that we were in the wrong place at the wrong time, or more often that it was our fault (or at least partially so). In our official records (where they exist) we are often nameless victims, our identities concealed from roving eyes.

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