The shadows that I cannot outrun chase me all the around my life like I am but a goat tethered to a post and they were the death that touches simply to taunt. The shadows that I can never hide from find me tucked in the corner under my bed with my little light and they come just to see me squirm. To hear me scream in terror and to see my heart pounding in my throat. All these years going by and all the miles on my soul but when they come I am a child again. Helpless and thin and scared out of my mind. A mind that learned to heal itself by numbing the pain and forgetting the past but the traces of evil cannot be completely erased. They live inside me, buried under layers and layers of false consciousness and once in a while they slip free and rise to the surface. The surface that is a no stranger to the claws of such evil. The surface that is somewhere inside my skin that burns with the fire of a thousand little matchsticks. And not my nails nor my sharpest of knives can pierce through and let even a drop of that pain seep out. But I suppose that every time my physical body dies my mind becomes stronger. And I suppose that I’d rather be disfigured and ugly than mad and dead. So maybe one day my mind will be strong enough to confront the source of our pain head on and I’ll live to tell that tale. Maybe one day all this reflected suffering will end and when the shadows come, they will pass by me like I was a rock and they were but a soft wind.     


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