Perfect Perversity

The dark of night presses in on me as if it were a horrific vise, one that squeezes the very life from my body with each turn of the screw. Inwardly I scream, crying out to any that would help me, but outside I am the same unchanging woman, silent, reserved and always a breath away from the emotions I continually try to hold at bay.

I do my duty as rence commands, unable to block the brooding whispers that harbor themselves in my thoughts. Curse or kindness, the blackness smothers me, closing in like an optical illusion, an illusion that refuses to allow me to see past it. Hort by hort I feel my sanity slipping away, draining into a sea of intelligent madness.

And yet I linger, surrounded by the ghosts of my past and the fears of my present, awaiting an answer that may never come. “Read.” Proof preys at the edge of my reality, even though I am unable to touch it. But that does not make it any less tangible.

There are nights I can hear her crying, gulping sobs that threaten to rip my heart from my chest, a grief that turns me inside out, bearing every last sensitivity I have to a world that has betrayed me time after time. But it is not the world I despise.

For now, the past is dead.. silent.. still. But soon, even that shall change. I can feel the twist in futures fold, its clawing hand set to rip me from the vortex of my present. I am but a pawn. Perfect perversity. Full Circle.