I don’t speak English, though it be my only language. I held inside my hell, closed tight and hidden just for me, then my words became a fine spirit of pain distilled. The spoken word of articulated screams. Barely heard when first we speak, words with shadows vaguely heard.

I woke up again in the middle of the night. It was that nightmare again. I couldn't remember it but every time I wake up at midnight I get the feeling it is because of the same dream. And all I can see in my room with the lights out is that painting... That place...