Even if you think there isn’t a behind story, there is one. It is created right now, right this moment. Even if thoughts feel to be random, there is a reason for them to be like that. I’ve asked her for a favour. It‘s never for free. I’ve got what I’ve wished for and something more that wanted me to bleed. The late night. The early morning. In the sound of a storm. The night may feel dark and cold, maybe it seems to be scary, maybe the darkness feels comforting, maybe… It’s everything. (Waking up breathless with a racing heart. They say I may be worried. I don’t believe, maybe I should. What I’ve seen, what I see – it feels like they’re laughing – laughing at me. It’s the timing – it’s the time. Just to feel - how they’re cutting into your arm. It’s sharp, it’s a stingy pain. You’d rather cut it off whole. You haven’t asked for it. And yet it’s happening. How it works. This mind.) Without a trace. You question the morning, the morning questions you. It‘s like you’ve never slept, and you did, too.














