There are days when I wouldn't say  I'm haunted. There are other days when I am held down completely by the ghosts in my head.
One memory stands alone, like a video game boss. It's the big one in the shape of an idiot with two roaming eyes and there is nothing worse than a villain who thinks he's done no wrong.
I made my intentions so clear. It was one of my rare moments of pure elation. I wanted to dance forever and see paradise.
Paradise is, evidently, a ***** basement. It is getting drunk at 17 and forgetting that no one actually cares. It is being touched by a pair of scary eyes and then even worse hands. It is saying "no" and being ignored. It is wishing you had listened to your mother.
And on the other side of Paradise is a shame that keeps you silent. It's a bed you can no longer sleep in. It's a handful of pills and bottomless *****. It's your own fist punching your legs. It's a lie you tell yourself.
Today I'm selling tickets to my haunted house. The catch is, if you happen to find an exit, you have to tell me.