I would happily give up sanity to be able to think right now.

A stranger in my house.
I am a stranger in my own house.
I am the keeper of the room key.
All the secrets to what does not go on in here are mine to shut up about. No one should be ashamed of acting, of doing, of speaking, of cleaning, of sullying, of weeping, of starting, of copying, of marrying, of breaking, of erupting, of listening, of shadowing, I should be ashamed, of knowing, of waiting, of keeping, of sedating, of staring, of rephrasing, of staring, of freezing.
I know melody. I have felt it in evenings and mornings embedded in fantasy. It was treachery. It left me. It left me barren. I treat it like a lover would, gently sobbing whispering shrieking.