there are terrible things you can't remember and it hurts to try but by now you've just
stopped trying
and have long since learned to accept the times you wake up, nose bleeding and head throbbing with a dull, festering ache that never truly ceases. You've taught yourself to stop thinking clearly because if you do you might remember the things you've
things you've done.
There is still pain, pulsing out from the lump on the back of your skull, from the bruises on your face, from the scrapes on your wrists and ankles, rubbed raw from being tied down with wire and rope.
But you have to keep walking, because the pain dulls with every step closer to it he she they the whatever-it-is that you just accept exists
It has come to the point where you no longer know if it is pulling you toward it or if you have begun to come to it willingly. Your own will has blended seamlessly with that of thatthing somewhere down the line, at some point before all this became so
no no no no
it tells you to follow, so it you, Alex, you are Alex right now do as it says
it never speaks aloud, but just wills somehow, and you hear it in your head and you listen. You always need to listen now.
it helps you sometimes. Like now, as the ache of your latest encounter with Tim steadily drains from your limbs. Like now, as you somehow ended up untied and alive despite how your last clear, cognizant thought was terror and anger as your own gun - the gun you don't remember consciously getting, just having at some indistinct point in time - was pointed at your head.
you'd never admit that you're grateful for the help
((it's not really intentional help but you're more or less grateful for the distraction that takes the pain away, even for a second))
But sometimes it gets
angry
If one could call it anger. You don't know if it can feel the way people do, but sometimes you wake up and remember the harsh soundfeelhurt of a dark, burning rage, blazed against the edges of your its head. as if some murky purpose had been interrupted and it had lashed out, scarring the fringes of your mind.
The fringes of your mind that are already so scarred and jumbled that it's disturbingly easy to just slip out
everything has become so muddled now, confusing, but you've stopped fighting. It's easier to not fight, to just let it happen. If you think to0 hard on it…
no
you just need to stopthink
erase erase erase
just stop thinking clearly
stop thinking about what yo u hh „ e
you just need to keep being, just do as it says like a good toy soldier
forget
all the times you've woken up in your own house, wondering whose blood its left on your hands this time
there are terrible things you can't remember
things you s h oOUldn..t rm/em,ber;
../
ever