And beaneath everything there’s another feeling, the last of them buried beaneath my bones.
The feeling of sitting in the dark, alone.
Some might see it as peaceful; a place for safe keeping for yourself but it’s anything but that.
Instead it is hiding, crawling up into this dark corner because of all the lights flashing at me.
They’re transfixing in a way though, these lights. Like the cacophony of moth wings near that one simple light that hangs suspended in the middle of a hospital room. It’s kind of rancid too in a way.
On reflection, everybody is trying to dissect me.
Dissect me till I am these layers of feelings I store.
But nobody can ever reach down enough to this hidden feeling.
Everybody wants to tear me apart; but I am only flesh and bone.
The only part of me that needs to be torn apart is the one in the darkness, where I am caged and begging to be torn apart.