My insides are like a dark and stormy night that you shouldn’t have ventured out in
The beginning of the well known horror story
Crashes of lightning and thunder
The branches crash, hitting me in the face,
as I try to make my way through the woods
How did I end up here?
Feet sunk deep in mud, the kind that sucks the shoes off your feet,
wandering barefoot now, I am cold and wet and dirty and overhead the storm rages on.
Bramble bushes assault my skin, tiny thistles bury themselves in my hands and neck and arms, the tiniest of slivers buried deep, impossible to see or pluck out,
creating an itch, a heat, that cooks my skin and turns it against me. Now even my own skin becomes my enemy, scratching at it, scratching as though I would peel it off to get it out, out of me.
And still overhead the rain, the deluge plunging down.
Freezing cold, shivering and shaking, dirty and wet.
Everything around me is sharp, and fierce. And I stumble injuring myself.
And I stumble. And I stumble.
I leave myself breadcrumbs, by the light of the moon, to find my way back,
out of the woods.
But they are eaten.
By starving, ready creatures, scavenging for any morsel of nourishment.
They scarf down the bread, and show me their teeth, hissing, growling.
This is not a friendly place. We are not allies. They are not here to help me.
They steal my resources without a moments hesitation, they would do anything to keep themselves alive, and I don’t blame because so would I.
So would I.