bone walls




“In the silentious abyss of my room, here I lay staring at the vast white ceiling before me; shoulder blades easing into the mattress which carries my weight. My hands fold aptly over one another; Moses to my breasts. Slow and succinct I continue to breathe, begrudging the time I persist on letting slip by.

Every second heartbeat a reminder of each second that escapes me.

Why, it appears this just may be my most valuable asset, and yet I bargain whenever I can, selling it to the lowest bidder.


has no form yet in its absence, leaves me with what feels like a gaping chasm in my chest and questions of why I didn’t fight for you. We seem to be joined in an abusive matrimony in which neither of us gain what we could have, had we just worked shit out.

When I have you, you bore me – when I want you, you tell me it’s too late.

The more you spoil me, the more I want to shake you, roll my eyes and beg for tomorrow. But when tomorrow arrives, I mourn yesterday’s renegaded promises and remember the hundreds of yesterday’s before. Forgotten. Now mutations of a routine I deny are part of my subconscious.

Captive within these bone walls which encase my mind, I plan my final escape.

I am christened both Villain and Savior within this convoluted sequence; welcoming loss regardless of my predilection. Prevailing means an end to this monotony you so despise, I tell myself. I would rejoice with that notion of freedom, but somehow I’m trapped. Though I search in and around all of the crevasses which make up the being who stares back at me in the mirror, I appear to have lost the instruction manual on how to do so.

In the silentious abyss of my room, as I lay here staring at the vast white ceiling before me, I spur the sun to rise faster and set slower as inertia accosts me yet again; void of dreams but full of prophecies, myriad motion picture’s directed by death’s kin. A mise-en-scène of missed opportunities and stolen moments, salvageable only if I purge myself from this marooned body.


forcing my eyes to haze as life plays out in real and fictitious time, the splendor of both kept for my eyes only, though the third is blurred.

In the silentious abyss of my room, as I lay here, lost and seeking answers to questions I have yet to imagine; I plead, I yearn, I rest and wait and Time, my love, carries on without me.”

Written by: April Alexander

@aprilalexander/ @discreetmuse