He was a mutterer:
he couldn’t help but answer the voices snatching at him
for attention, stalking him like
cancerous ghosts and echoing about his head.
They were intruders from other lives,
other people, other demons
that shrieked and pulsed and throbbed
and battered his brain from the inside-out.
They declared him a monster, a saint, a man who’d
just as much reason to die as he did to live.
It was difficult to keep hold of the silence when there was so much screaming.
Insanity was his vague baneful something that
lurked behind a hidden doorway,
whose existence he would not acknowledge--
it was where the screams came from,
where they slipped out from under the little gap
in between the wood ad the floor,
and it was terrifying.
His body would twitch and thrash, trying to scatter
the sounds from his shoulders, where they nestled in the crook of his neck,
and smiled at his tears. They held on laughing, little claws
tearing at his skin.
He walked and walked until his feet bled into
the cobblestone patterns, pacing and tracing jagged lines:
chaotic memories of terrors and indecision
of whether he should embrace
all that he was, or kill the parts he wasn’t.
It was years and gallons of seeping blood before
his eyes finally flicked over to the old brass handle,
but once he did, it snicked open and his sight
flared into pain, and his skin became gasoline for the fight about him.
An exorcism burnt through his heaving lungs, rushing up his throat
in a raw embrace with reality, and he choked on the blaze
as he exhaled all that broke his mind in a stilted scream,
as he tried to expel
all the plagues built up inside his broken immune system.
He realized that maybe there was no whole to grab ahold of,
no anchor in his soul that he’d though would
withstand this storm, and that maybe
tearing himself away from what hurt him wasn’t such a good idea,
not when it was himself doing the damage.
His voice scratched its way from his body,
thrashing against his throat as it finally fled and vacated his body,
and the silence that was left terrified him more than any of the
howls in his head.
He looked down to see the lucid parts of him lying discarded on the floor.
He gathered his burnt flesh, and he gathered his scream in
tear-stained arms, and fed on his terror,
reuniting himself with himself before embracing
the fury and the fight and the fire,
and finding a new home behind the splintered door, where he would
drown in voices that weren’t his own.
Topic:
Spoiler! :
Really not sure about the end. Or the entire piece, actually. CC would be not only welcomed, but adored.
Thanks for reading!
-Coral-
...sorry, but this really is not the best ending.
).
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