Drainpipe.

Keep your room locked and leave your blinds closed.


I felt you curl yourself in the damp dark corner last night.
Even from across the room. I felt you scratch away at that last bit of self-esteem and you couldn't even bear to be near me, so you took yourself as
far away as the room would possibly allow without scratching the walls away with your brittle broken ivory nails.
How did we end up in this place? I remember falling down and down and down, like Alice down that damned rabbit hole. Trying to clasp on to the smallest shread of hope
and dignity, trying to muster up enough energy to scream out, to stop this stupid bloody madness and this bloody game you're so intent of putting me through.
I remember, the large old rusty key, the awful sound it made as you clumsily thrusted it into the tight lock and turned it and how it made me cringe.
You wanted us to sort things out remember. To sit down, and properly make everything right, and we wouldn't leave the room until then.
As if it is that easy. I wish.


Yet you still wouldn't go anywhere near me. I tried to claw you back from the destructive hell hole you landed yourself in, but you won't let me.
I was prepared to wait. But as soon as I touched your pale skin you drew away, as if my hand was a flame. I remember just sitting there after that,
watching you. You'd gotten so frail. Your skin almost see-through, I could see your blue veins, intricately winding their way around your body to that heap of metal
formely known as your heart.
Why wouldn't you let me in.