Not Your Friend

I am your friend. You are out of the sunlight now, hidden away, safe. It is dark, erasing things you never want to see. You are alone, right where you want to be. Alone in your thoughts with a pen in your hand, a paintbrush in your hands, a guitar in your hands. You are free to say what you want, think what you want, do what you want alone in the dark. There is nothing to stifle you, to limit you, to filter you. You are free.

You are imprisoned. Trapped in my long, winding arms, squeezing out your sanity. I will hit you with crippling blows. You will remember every mistake, tiny and life-altering. I will make you relive it again and again. Faces and noises will appear; they don’t exist. They do exist. Swimming around in your head, the words don’t make sense any more. Illusions of bugs crawling across your skin. You can’t see them, but they are there. I hide away the unknown so it can creep up on it when you are your weakest. Blood and screams and torture will skin you alive, eat you alive, burn you alive.

Pray for the sun, my darling; I am not your friend.