Direful mists mean nothing

To her now.

She sits in her room and

She has no idea how

She came to be this way.

But it took time

And racking phases

in which she learned the language of

Tap water.

She says, hey

my mind is eating me alive.

I can't escape myself

even though I try.

If she has learned anything

from this life

it is that the human brain

can become the best torture house

out of all of those it has invented.

She can't stop the torture.

She isn't sure she wants to try.

In which I can't hide my raging literary boner for Vladimir Nabokov and reference him like a woman obsessed.