Evenings spent alone indoors

I lie in my tomb, dreading, listening

to half heard conversations and distant footsteps,

I sense living on the other side,

Excluding me, condemning me.

Inside, imprisoned in my mind,

There are eyes, disapproving,

And contorted smiles,

Shadows of utterances,

Unclothing and shaming.

At every scrape at the door,

I perk up hoping for someone to call.

Nobody comes. Nothing happens.

I run from them and long for them.

The failure of anonymity,

The isolation of insanity.

The magic little pills explode in my head

In a ritual of death and resurrection.

Sleep brings on the death fantasy

And the stilling of the cosmic hostility.

But there is always a waking from the death-sleep,

As the chemical fog melts away

And old enemies circle around.

(At University, 2003)