Floating, Drifting

Hey there, sleepyhead. Playing with your doll. Is that all that’s left of you?

Dream of pretty flying things, that your mind not fall away.

Though it’s already fallen, hasn’t it? Kings and kingdoms birthed from a skull parted like cut silk in your madness and pain.

You could not hope to hide your emotions forever, look now how your tears burn holes with which to see them like acid through your skin.

Dream of better things. Happier things. Pretty places and tales that love you. Look not unto the wyrm crawling from your soul. It is desperate. It is hungry.

Stuff your memories of the Zariman with paper and masks, little child. You don’t have to remember anymore. Even though you know it isn’t real.

Hold tight to your stories, child. Lest the memories drag you down. I know you hear that song in your nightmares. I know you know the faces pounding against the surface of the water.

Even though I know you cant forget those gnashing teeth. Those hands that reached. Grabbed. Tore. The eyes that hated you. You were a child. It’s not your fault they wanted to eat you. They were remembering years to come. They knew what you would do.

What you gave away.