I am truthfully not lying when I say that I do not like these loops. Goddamn loops. Fucking loops. I’m okayw when I’m in them, for sure. Paste on a grin, bear the madness, pretend none of it matters. But when I’m out? God, the nightmares don’t end. Not for quite awhile. There’s so much blood. So, so much. Everywhere, I can see it everywhere. I can almost smell it, feel it running down the tips of my fingers and onto my hands, my arms, my neck and shoulders.
I can hear the mice scurrying in the walls and floorboards above me. They need to stop their pattering little feet. Maybe I should set out some more traps and stop them myself. Scratch, patter, scratch, scratch, scrape, patter, patter, squeak. It’s irritaating. I don’t like mice very much. Not many people do, except for the people who do. Some people buy mice and keep them as pets. I don’t know why they do this, there are mice everywhere. Every country in the world has mice in it. You can hardly set foot in this place without stepping on goddamn mice.
It’s okay now, I’ll be fine. I’m a butterfly made of lead. A steel dandelion seed drifting in the wind, yet sinking so fast, so fast, through the air, through the Earth, straight to her molten core. It’s hot in here. I think I need to lie down for a bit.