“The last year I lived there, I had only a blanket between my self and the deep night, my soul was naked to its maker, and its maker told me stories I could not forget and I could not write; I was filled with darkness and with light, with shapes and with sounds that moved within me, now a stampede, now a flight, then a wind so strong I couldn’t keep my feet…

“And everyone I met wondered, or shied away. I know they did: I saw a warding hand in a glance, but what could I say? There was that world in me… ‘Come in! Come in!’ I thought. In the end it was only silence.

“This is no different, this city: the neon and cement will not protect. It is day into night, day into night, and voices that come from somewhere: the ancestors, by all rights. I don’t lose sight. I listen, instead of look. My soul is naked to its maker. Its maker tells me stories I won’t forget, and cannot write.”

“High and Dry” by nefar007 @ DeviantArt

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