moved some of my belongings up to Bethnal Green,
a sense of finality, & slight aroma
of danger, thirsty, but unable to swallow.
These walls are infinate, they
know no bounds, and i sit here
on my bed in this vast vast off-white
space where i am totally free beneath
the scorching bright 150 watt lightbulb
that bleaches out everything i once feared.
Here there are no problems that can't be
solved, this small musty room i
moved into over a year ago, and filled
with wide open space, fresh breathable
air, huddled in my bed holding onto my own
hand, thoughts flowed through this place,
and it is already emptying itself,
slowly returning to its room-like form,
it already seems smaller than i remember
it being, tearing around the place
chasing myself, shooting myself, capturing myself,
stalking myself, fighting my shadow, dancing
madly around the room eyes rolled back,
slowly fading white to magnolia.

Words by Julian Roberts