Pitch black

There's a black and white play on tv
by a guy called Dostoyevsky
i imagined you in the rain
i feel pitch black again
my shoulders shiver with the cold body feels alien and old
wish there would have been more of a row
a plate smashing memory so precious now
there's nothing left no-one to blame
you couldn't cope with second hand fame
I didn't understand the play but i think the writer would've understood
me