In The Night
At night the moon is playing games with the stars.
The moon is still tormenting the stars in the sky. I feel that I am being tormented as well. Something claws at my skin, sinks in and grips on only to tear back and it hurts so bad I fear that I might make a noise. If I make any sound the world will crumble in my fingers.
It happened before.
The covers are pulled down and my shirt pushed up. From my belly button are hands that push out and sink their nails into my flesh. They rip it away and strip me down to not but muscle and bone.
And it hurts.
Sometimes I think they are the hands of the ones I know. Manicured nails or rough palms, all of those I knew. They all want to rip me apart.
And that hurts worse.
Then when I think that I'll die I realize I am still whole. I think this is hell. This hole in my body leads straight to hell where, at night, all the arms of my comrades try to climb out.
So I sewed it shut.
It's ugly. It's stitched up and ugly. Yet every-night the stitches are broken and then hands claw at me. Maybe they want to drag me down with them.
Then I cry.
The ants crawl down my face from my tear ducts like they were waiting to escape. They eat at my face. Taking bits and pieces of it one by one back to feed their families. When I feel that my face is all gone I realize
It's not.
And when I fear that I'll make noise and destroy this world, the moon finally chases the stars away and the sun comes over the horizon.
And I'm still alive.