Wednesday, 19 October 2011
11:18:05 PM (GMT)
Lying face down and feeling like I'll never get up again. I barely ever leave my
bed. I'm starting to feel sick and falsified.
Things come out of the woodwork to hurt me, things with no corporeal shape but enough
force to wound. Things I can't bring up for fear of summoning their friends to finish
me off for good.
How can I coax truth from the fount of all distortions? Do I ask in reverse
psychology? I'm shocked into silence by the preconception that there may be more
warping in the wood than I ever foresaw.
Do I bite my tongue? Keep my silence? Maintain my circumstance?
I bury my face into the pillow and write messages without looking. They turn out
I erase them because it's all too clear what has happened here.
I never left the place in my mind where I was small and scared and powerless. I never
got out. I've only been twirling around in the wreckage of square one and dreaming of
My eyes close. Those creatures are arriving soon, and they like to cuddle close under
I can't bear to stay awake and see myself go.