My mind and my body are going in slow motion
Putting my thoughts together has become a painful task
I can feel the pain in the top of my fingernails
In my aching back and my dry eyes
The house...the traces of clothes, the dirty coffee cups
The unfinished sentences in the middle of a converstion,
the blank page dairies
the empty rooms, my light phobia in the mornings
Are talking about that
So far I have been unable to make a home for me
Home, home, home...
It sounds both like a promise and a jail
Promises can be broken,
Jails can be delusions
