What if I were to tell you that some days see me terrified to simply step outside? To venture beyond the security provided by the clearly definitive skirted outline, the separation of where my carpet begins & the carpeted hallway of the landing upon the opposing side of my studio door ends. The carpet remains whole, as one invisible wall stands strong.
What if you knew that the deepest fear I know as my own is how empty I have felt in more moments of my life than any twenty three year old girl should ever have found herself? How I worry that the vacancy of the hollow fragment I define as my soul would ever or could even return once the sombre stone of sobriety sets in, & I can no longer numb nor mend the emptiness, emptiness is no match for cleanliness & cleanliness is empty.
What if I allowed you to bear witness to my monotonous midnight pleas for that damned, unreliable Sandman to please, please, please bring me a dream? Reduced to tears, what if you seen how immensely taunted I could be by lack of sleep & how swiftly sleep maintained its decisions to evade my wretched, tormented state?
What if I told you, from the bottomless pit of my bottomless soul that there simply couldn’t be much left of me at all & that I had been so tremendously high, (defying the law known as gravity), for so very long the prospect of coming clean could only ever leave me cowardly, cold & broken – the Worlds broken doll, the Worlds shattered whore, backbones bruised by floorboards –
What if I was not made of love, yet the creation of sin, from sin, from rage, fear & hate that I as an entity couldn’t be much more than cold, cold from all that has come out wrong?
What if I truly, regretfully was that warm blooded damsel in distress who never asked for any of this?