She stares at the blank page
Then at the far wall
“We’re all mad here,” it says
Whispering
Yelling
Beckoning
I feel so small
A tiny version of myself
Balled up inside
Peering through this strangers’ eyes
Sounds echo loudly
Reverberating through my hosts’ body
I may be losing my mind
Everything is surrounding me
Pulsating
Colossal versions of themselves
I’m in the kitchen now
How did I get here?
How long has it been?
I place my hand in front of my face
It doesn’t feel like my hand
I pick up a knife and slice open the palm of my dead hand
I don’t flinch
I don’t feel it
“Where am I,” I ask as the blood drips from my hand