I will continue to curl up inside myself. In here, it is safe. At least. I know the demons in here, are only the ones I create. These people pound on the walls, doors, and windows. Trying to find a way in. There is no room in here. No space. This is my cocoon. MINE. My nightmare. My dream. MY demons. MY angels. My torment. My salvation. You are all just invaders. Intruders. Strangers. I may be my own worst enemy. What does that make you then? This person trying to peer in? What right do you have to what doesn’t belong to you? You do what you want because you can. No justification. Not even a fuck you or polite apology. No excuse me, may I interrupt you today? No understanding. No comprehension of what a privilege you have. I don’t want to be disturbed anymore. I put the sign on the door. Once again. Like so many times before. You precede to no end. NO END. NO END. NO END. And these screams have become my comfort. The only assurance that I am real. Or perhaps these screams are just another of my delusions. And the hope that I exist, is just another to be shattered by your intrusion. I curl and bend til my spine breaks. The pain is assurance. It must be. What else can this madness mean? Oh it’s just pain. Just pain. Even this passes. Like all things. Like I will. Like this reality. And in this, I know there is a God. And in this, surely this God is a woman. Surely only another woman would understand the necessity of endings. Only God would understand my fear of immortality.
And when I die, God will know.
God will say.” Ah, this one,” With such an tired exasperated sigh.
“This one died of a broken heart.”
“The veins just broke. They were cut up pretty bad. She is so small, you know. Just a tiny thing. Hardly enough blood to keep her going. For small fragile things, death is best. “