There is something in the corner of my room.
I squint to see it in the darkness.
A little boy is sitting on the floor,
Playing with a deck of cards.
I sit up and stare at him.
He sees me and runs right into the wall.
On my blinds, little people are having a tea party.
They strut up and down with cups and saucers.
I swear I hear them singing.
The wallpaper on the ceiling starts to fall.
Burying me in a papery grave.
I call for my mother.
She comes to check on me,
In a stripy nightgown, she’s had for years.
She cradles me as I cry,
Whilst each stripe peels off onto my rug.
When she leaves,
My dead grandmother walks my room.
‘Am I skinny? Am I skinny?’
She begs me to answer her,
As she stares right through me.
I feel every organ inside my body.
I am hyperaware.
Something is crawling on my face.
Clawing at my arms.
On my knees,
I ask God
When will this end?