Scarcely

Shall I break down the walls? Shall I drop my defense and let you see through me? Look me in the eyes and tell me you know more than what I know. Such nightmares are needed to wake me up, and such darkness is needed to blind me. Those parts that made me, made a vile woman. She sits in her shadow and is comfortable enough in her own recklessness. Maybe if she were touched by a sane, she'd be brave enough to distort the illusion. A wicked mystery that she craves to solve all her life, strange, for there are no hidden clues. Grips tighten in holding beauty in life with suffering, with a wilt of madwoman living in the ghost world afar from normality created from nothing.

Breathing a little from the exhaustion of running away, but every time it led me to where I am running from, it circles from drought to dream within a dream. I am always waiting in the vein of secluded and narrated life, hoping I could break the pattern. The way it stops then starts; it terrifies me to be not used to it and deteriorates of how far I've come—to impair the colors I painted—to weaken the taste of every sweet thing I found.