Sharp and invasive pain, not seen with the naked eye.

The wounds created long ago, continue to re-open and re-play themselves as a form of private torture.  “It’s not fair”, I scream quietly to myself, calling out to the universe, begging for it to all stop.

Looking for the escape hatch, the trap door, that pathway through the ceiling.  My knees have scratches and are bleeding, visual proof of my endless attempts to find the way out.

It wasn’t always like this, I remember good things, events, feelings.

Perhaps a spell cast upon me by an evil witch, unknown to me, unable to break it’s binding upon my soul until the Dark Horse arrives to rescue me knowing that I am the Dark Horse, not something outside of me.

The searing sadness, each time I think about the task before me wondering if I have another fight in me.

There really is no permanent happily ever after.  I often think someone should have to take accountability for that. I want my money back you lying motherfuckers, I’m not buying it anymore.

Spiraling, so tired, unsure of what my next action should be, I pray silently, with desperation for this to run it’s course so that I can move beyond it.

I know it’s there, I know I’ll find it, I know I can float.