I lay
in bed, it's pitch black in my room. I feel it. A chill
runs down my back, my blood runs cold. His hands are upon me,
burning my skin. My voice, it won't work. I try to open
my mouth, but it is as if my lips are glued shut. I feel his
hands push upon my back, pain shooting through me. I am
paralyzed. I want to run, I want to hide, but I remain there.
I feel his fingers trace my skin, I feel him push harder
against my back. I can't do anything about it.
I gasp, shooting up in my bed. My heart, erratic; my breath,
coming out in gasps. The night is
quiet—calm.
I feel tears swell within my eyes; I can still feel his hands
upon me—to
this
day—I
remember everything so vividly. As if it was a memory. But,
no, it was a creation of my own mind; my mind, attacking me
once again.
I
wish you were here, I wish you were holding me. I wish you
took away the pain, I wish you too away the nightmares.
You're the only thing that I have to hold onto,
you're the only thing that makes me believe I could ever
get
better—as
if I could ever beat this. You're my voice of reason,
you're my voice of hope; you're my light, my guiding
angel.
But,
alas, you're with her. Holding her in your arms, looking
into her eyes, chasing away her nightmares. I suppose I
don't blame you, I'm not much of
anything—if
that at the very least. She's stable, she's sane,
she's good for you. Me, I'm toxic, I would posion
you, I would ruin you. Like I've ruined myself. At
least you're still putting up with me, I suppose. At
least you haven't abandon me, yet.
So, I sit there, just like every other night. Replying my
lastest destruction of my
mind—my
latest
nightmare—over
and over again within my head. Memorizing every detail,
etching it within my brain.
Wishing—aching—for
you to be here with me, holding me in your arms, keeping the
demons at bay. But you're not. And you never will
be.