I close my eyes. I see you. Your body laced with virgin white Italian silk. Or ragged tatters of pajamas two sizes smaller – does it matter? In this state you are one and the same.
The blanket of night embraces you. Its cool and disinterested arms swallow your body whole. As you toss and turn on your bed, the paper moon hangs above – all seeing. An impartial observer, a silent sentinel watching over its dominion.
Currently, its eye shines upon you. Your body drenched with moonlight as it continues to turn and topple, like an abandoned buoy that is excommunicated to go out to sea, sentenced to a life of isolation, amidst a sea of faces and dizzying streams of names and places.
You lay on your bed. Restless. Tired. Sore. Hair tousled and heartbroken. Your left arm has fallen asleep before you did. Slumped and numb, you adjust your body and allow blood to flow through.
A million needles stab you simultaneously. You let out a blood curdling scream.
I open my eyes. The moon stares at me.