the colour of madness

monday 29th april 2002 @ 05:04

it's been sometime since my insomnia woke me before dawn. usually it's just the neighbours who have that privilege. but here i am yawning into semi-darkness. my bare feet scrunched beneath me to avoid the nocturnal spider-run.

i dream of accidents in which i am the only survivor, or at least the only one conscious. and now i'm awake i feel guilty for my self-pity and wonder who phoned the parents.

this personal madness, the one that creates my nightmares and forces my state of consciousness, seems only visible to me. maybe it's because they don't look, or they choose not to notice. or maybe you have to know it, to see it in someone else. the fear in my eyes, the persistant tap of my foot, my hands in front of my face during conversation.

the signs really are all there if you know what to look for. it's in the ring i wear that reminds me, it's in the quartz in my pocket that protects me, it's in my lack of a coat in stormy weather, it's in the heart on my sleeve that betrays me.

at 5am the colours are different. because colour is nothing more than the refraction of light and the angle's too low to brighten my world. the ancient windows rattle. a draught rushes under the door with the sunrise. but the madness doesn't stop. it just changes colour.