One hour later I jumped
I jumped suddenly realizing that I was awakening to a life that was unfortunately, but very realistically, mine
Mine was tear induced coma I was shaking alive from almost stabbing myself
Stabbing myself with the only pinch I have to test that last night wasn’t a nightmare
Last night wasn’t a nightmare it was as freshly polished as the metal in my hands were with the thin layer of now rusting blood only where the blade enters the plastic at the handle
At the handle my quaking pale fingers were screwed on tight to those twin blades by my completely opaque but ghost-like joints
Like joints in a clock, I tick my sanity away as I recollect the events that are disassembling my perfect paper airplane that soared me out of this setting
This setting only is fit for a good teen drama is all that my circling owl eyes see as my head spins to fight to see my reflection
My reflection has come to a pitiful glance at the mirror to my right with the now broken frame
Now broken framed family pictures are the only thing agleam in the light in my veiled closet
My veiled closet held the treasures of my identity in the box my back was half set against
Set against these standards of normalcy I'm never going to fit
Going to fit in one of the shoes I’m awkward and messily thrown on is going to difficult with all of the newly misshapen soles
Misshapen souls pulse through my blood but I hope to never open one of those veins the way I had
I had the reaction to move once the urgency hit like an injured deer jumping off of a crash site but I couldn’t
I couldn’t deduce what hurt and why, it was just this overwhelming invasion of emotional numbness
Emotional numbness gave me the notion that it wouldn’t hurt, that I was strong but I physically lied
I physically lied there in the same position I collapsed into for twenty more minutes basking in the logic that my imagination is, for once, not the culprit and simultaneously being absorbed by the fear
The fear was approaching just as fast as he could be
He could be here, nine inches away and I wouldn’t have a clue
A clue as to what the extent of the damage steadily appeared clearer and clearer as the sight in my one eye became adjusted to the gloom within the closet and the contrast on the far side of the curtain
The curtain squares that were pink or white with pink accents snuck a few particles of luminescence through to shed a new view
A new view of the world is just as unsettling as the new view they have of me
Me and my bruises and my cut and my discoloration and my lack of binocular vision that were crumpled like the horrible untold story and erased illustration in the bottom of the waste basket that I had become
One hour later