Its dark in the night, unusually dark,;
and he is laying on the bed,
with limbs spread out like a venomous spider
hands curled like a snake.
It’s cold and dark, darker than the night sky;
Darker than the dying coal,
the night hung open like a witch’s darkest spell,
absorbing every colour and making it unbearable.
The hope is fading and the spell growing stronger.
He wants to curl back like a foetus, safe and warm ;
if only he knew.
The night carries hollowness in his heart, choking the thoughts;
eyes blindfolded, wandering in a child’s play.
Paint him blue, paint him red,
paint him white, paint him gold, but not a drop of black.
Make him alive or let him die