It happened in the dead of night while I was slicing bread for a guilty snack.
My attention was caught by the scuttering of a raccoon outside my window.
That was, I believe, the first time I noticed my strange tendencies as an unusual
human.
I gave the raccoon a piece of bread, my subconscious well aware of the consequences.
Well aware that a raccoon that is fed will always come back for more.
The enticing beauty of my cutting knife was the symptom.
The bread, my hungry curiosity.
The raccoon, an urge.

The moon increments its phase and reflects that much more light off of my cutting
knife.
The very same light that glistens in the eyes of my raccoon friend.
I slice the bread, fresh and soft. The raccoon becomes excited.
or perhaps I'm merely projecting my emotions onto the newly-satisfied animal.

The raccoon has taken to following me.
You could say that we've gotten quite used to each other.
The raccoon becomes hungry more and more frequently, so my bread is always handy.
Every time I brandish my cutting knife the raccoon shows me its excitement.
A rush of blood. Classic Pavlovian conditioning. I slice the bread.
And I feed myself again.

The tendrils of my hair illuminate beneath the amber glow.
Bathing.
It must be this one.
The last remaining streetlight to have withstood the test of time.
The last yet to be replaced by the sickening blue-green of the future.
I bathe. Calm; breathing air of the present but living in the past.
The light flickers.
I flicker back.

Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of
Get.
Out.
Of.
My.
Head.


Get out of my head before I do what I know is best for you.
Get out of my head before I listen to everything she said to me.
Get out of my head before I show you how much I love you.
Get out of my head before I finish writing this poem.



But a poem is never actually finished.
It just stops moving.

I pop off my scalp like the lid of a cookie jar.
It's the secret place where I keep all my dreams.
Little ***** of sunshine, all rubbing together like a bundle of kittens
I reach inside with my thumb and forefinger and pluck one out.
It's warm and tingly.
But there's no time to waste! I put it in a bottle to keep it safe.
And I put the bottle on the shelf with all of the other bottles.
Happy thoughts, happy thoughts, happy thoughts in bottles, all in a row.

My collection makes me lots of friends.
Each bottle a starlight to make amends.
Sometimes my friend feels a certain way.
Down comes a bottle to save the day.

Night after night, more dreams.
Friend after friend, more bottles.
Deeper and deeper my fingers go.
Like exploring a dark cave, discovering the secrets hiding in the nooks and crannies.
Digging and digging.
Scraping and scraping.

I blow dust off my bottle caps.
It doesn't feel like time elapsed.
My empty shelf could use some more.
My friends look through my locked front door.

Finally, all done. I open up, and in come my friends.
In they come, in such a hurry. Do they want my bottles that much?
I frantically pull them from the shelf, one after the other.
Holding them out to each and every friend.
Each and every bottle.
But every time I let one go, it shatters against the tile between my feet.
Happy thoughts, happy thoughts, happy thoughts in shards, all over the floor.

They were supposed to be for my friends, my friends who aren't smiling.
They're all shouting, pleading. Something.
But all I hear is echo, echo, echo, echo, echo
Inside my head.

I don't know how else to bring this up. But there's been something I've been worried about. Yuri has been acting kind of strange lately. You've only been here a few days, so you may not know what I mean. But she's not normally like this. She's always been quiet and polite and attentive...things like that.

Okay... This is really embarrassing, but I'm forcing myself to **** it up. The truth is, I'm REALLY worried about her. But if I try talking to her, she'll just get mad at me again. I don't know what to do. I think you're the only person that she'll listen to. I don't know why. But please try to do something. Maybe you can convince her to talk to a therapist.

I've always wanted to try being better friends with Yuri, and it really hurts me to see this happening. I know I'm going to hate myself later for admitting that, but right now I don't care. I just feel so helpless. So please see if you can do something to help. I don't want anything bad to happen to her. I'll make you cupcakes if I have to. Just please try to do something. As for Monika... I don't know why, but she's been really dismissive about this. It's like she just wants us to ignore it. So I'm mad at her right now, and that's why I'm coming to you about this. DON'T LET HER KNOW I WROTE THIS!!!! Just pretend like I gave you a really good poem, okay? I'm counting on you. Thanks for reading

I wish everyone would stop bugging me.
I wish everyone would stop blaming me.
I wish everyone would stop hurting me.
I wish everyone would stop breaking me.
I wish everyone would stop yelling at me.
I wish everyone would stop pushing me.
I wish everyone would stop hating me.

I WISH EVERYONE WOULD JUST STOP IT!!!!

I can feel the tenderness of her skin through the knife, as if it were an extension of my sense of touch. My body nearly convulses. There's something incredibly faint, deep down, that screams to resist this uncontrollable pleasure. But I can already tell that I'm being pushed over the edge. I can't...I can't stop myself.