Hairline fracture crackling and splintering spreading like a malignant blood clot constricting cranial veins to the point of passing out. My glass house, the armor I erected to somehow protect me from myself is crumbling down around my ears. The moat has run dry and my defenses have been compromised.
I lay here in the dark watching witching-hour shadows dance on the bedroom wall. Circling headlights and the pale moon shining through like a flashlight beam. Like some insolent fuck I thought I might have had it all finally figured out… but my so called “strength” covers these gaping wounds like a soggy band-aid.
Above the dim ringing that heralds the arrival of mordant deprivation bulimic starvation, I hear your barely audible whisper. A pitch black shadow slouching in a creaking old chair, undead eyes affixed on mine.
When I was little I used to sleep with the blanket wrapped tightly around my head. I’d lie on my side and breathe through a small hole, encased in a cocoon. I naively thought I’d be protected from the bogeyman. I thought he’d quietly pass like a ship in a silent fog. I’d watch him float by my window as he worked his way down the dark street and then slip into a gutter.
Back to now. My mouth tastes like a fistful of rusted pennies. Dilated eyes fight back smarting tears. I realize I can no longer hide for I have become that which I despised and feared. With a soft creak I sneak out the back door, limp past parked cars and hungry street dogs, a grainy spectre flickering in and out of focus, not quite in this plane, but very real. A silent apparition nosferatu with hair falling out in clumps, bulging eyes, and protruding cheeks.
And I trickle like water disappearing into the dark city. My hand forever in yours.
I need you. I hate you so fucking bad and I hate myself worse because I know I cannot exist without you in my life. In your absence I am hollow. A “gebbeth” - borrowed flesh.
