The world is black.
Alone in the dark, the dogs bark. Lying in bed, my head full of the things that she said – wishing me dead – no sleep, I keep counting sheep, until the alarm bleeps and I throw off the sheets.
The night is the worst time. When it’s light is the first time I find relief from the pain; it’s always the same. But the light is a lie. I’m waiting to die, curtains drawn against the dawn. Work called again; I told them the pain remains. I think they know but I still won’t go to the office. She’ll be there, blonde hair, without a care. So I hide indoors, safe and secure, sure she won’t find me.
The world is black. The light is too bright; I took out the bulb in the hall. I turned the television to the wall. I don’t watch it now. I don’t know how to stop the lies that try to enter my eyes. Lies about red, green and blue – surely they knew that colour is not true? Only filthy white, and the clean truth – the world is black.
The walls have changed. I arranged a trip, went down to the town, and found a store. Ten tins or more of pure black gloss. Forget the cost, I had to have them. Now my house is pure and true; no red or green or blue, no subtle hue, just honest black in every room. The ceilings, too. I’ve blacked out the floor, threw the red rugs out the door. No colours any more. They all turned black.
The black is true. The small tattoo upon my arm still states the facts. Her name in ink – you’d think I’d want to black it out, no doubt because her name still causes pain. But no – my love for her is true as black. She won’t be back, but still I care. I leave it there, reminding me of better days before we parted ways. She says it’s her, not me. I see her mind at work. I will not shirk my feelings. That’s why I paint the ceilings with two coats of black – my future is not looking up.
I do not sleep. It seems my dreams at night are full of light, memories of sun and faces, fun and places I will never see again. Here I remain within my home of purest black. I’ve lost track of how many days I’ve stayed within these four black walls. The alarm clock calls but the numbers blur, they don’t concur. I had to paint them out – the red digits had begun to shout. There is no time here, only black.
They bang on the door, in patterns of four. They soon go away. I have nothing to say to these friends I once had. They think I am mad. They say that I’m sad, that I’ll find someone new. They don’t have a clue, but I do. My love is true – have you seen my tattoo? The black never lies. Still they try to come back. I’ve locked all the doors and sealed every window. Why would I go? I already know that there’s nothing to do. Maybe for you, but my life is done. Nowhere to run. She is gone.
Alone in the dark, the dogs bark. Lying in bed, my head full of the things that she said, I smile instead. I will soon be dead. No more lies, no more pain. No more sun, no more rain. The darkness will come and all will be black. No coming back, no need to pack. My life is done. I’m waiting for the end, my only true friend, and there will be no lies in his eyes.