Ctrl+Z. Ctrl+Me.

"Just living is not enough", said the butterfly, "one must have sunshine, freedom, and a little flower."
— Hans Christian Andersen.

I'm not okay.

We leave something of ourselves behind when we leave a place, we stay there, even though we go away. And there are things in us that we can find again only by going back there.

— Pascal Mercier, Night Train to Lisbon.


And so I thought I had woken up.

I'd washed my face 
and brushed my teeth.
Ate my breakfast,
cleaned up after.
Gave my dog a pat
while – beside her – I sat.

I heard a noise from the yellow room.
 What was the yellow room doing here?
 Deciding to step up and investigate,
I stepped in and stepped into the room. 

It was filled with a strange smell,
like a gypsy had lit incense sticks
and grew basil plants all over the room.
Decorated with streamers all over the place,
throw pillows and blankets all over the floor,
was it a party going on here?
But why are yellow snakes creeping up 
from hidden spots beneath the blankets?

I screamed.

And then,
I can't remember how
the next few hours passed.

I feel tired
I think I should 
just go back to sleep.

I make my way upstairs
because alone time seems 
to be a better treat
than to go out under the sun
or wait for it to set.

Oh, hasn't it already set?

As I finally reach the top of the stairs,
I found it strange that 
my room door was shut.
when before I left,
I left it ajar. 

Gently, I pushed the door open
and all joy melted off my face.
I couldn't move at all
because I saw myself in bed.

There I was,
lying in bed
suffocated in my own breath
finally meeting death.


Dreaming of Christmas
Winter would be chill
Thinking of a cold candy cane
Oh, how that would feel



 With the distance that's been growing.
I'm not okay,
I love you never show it.


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