sleep on floors

"it's a cleansing sort of thing" she explains to me, her hands moving as if she were maybe gracefully buttering bread. her eyes were wise and gigantic. they scared me a little. "when people say they can't stand themselves i wonder how hard they mean it, like, i can't stand up and still be myself, sort of thing. but i,  can't be around any of you without really hating things about me. i move around a lot, or i just sit very still and i won't look at any of you. hiding the fears is like finally settling in a hiding spot in hide-and-seek and having to hold it when you've really got to pee. not daring to move any muscles except your lips to whisper things to yourself in case they happen to make you stronger, that at the time, come out as nonsense. and i mean real nonsense, i mean prayers to saints that aren't born yet and listing names you wish you were called, names of boys that kissed you but not in this universe or place in time, ever."
she is on a roll, the room is her drum set, her eyes the cymbals crashing,
i watch her go and go and go.
"in order to move my bones at all i need all the nearby air to call out to me that okay, there is nothing here to see you happen, there is nothing to name you ugly except yourself, and if you put on the right song and pray to your unborn saints, maybe dance, if its extra quiet, then you can step outside, one foot in front of the other, and eventually let them look you in the eyes and call you by the name you were given. this air cannot be tainted with evidence of human life, or worry, or time, not deadlines or possible losses of loves. i can't breathe. dear silence: recharge me. i can't breathe. let me watch my mirror image move, get on my knees for beauty, beg, let me cry a little out loud only as long as i know its okay to. let me talk to the mouth of the showers silver spout and listen to the water on my reborn skins. there is nothing left. no dust, no sweat, no dirt, no tears, no grease or grime, it's a sparkling cleanliness, it's me, ten years old forever scrubbing invisible dirt from my knees. it's a perfect clean that i can only just barely stand the day with, i can stand in the place that my arms and eyes and legs happen to be and be halfway okay with it when you see it all, when you see me.  its happening again. "
i am sleeping in her nightmare singing about good dreams and i think she maybe hates it.  
"i need all the things i've been slowly forgetting." she says.