A Very Nice Mouse

She had blonde hair a shade so light it was almost white whispy and short in such a way as to poof out and make her head look too big for the rest of her. Her chin sort of came down sharply drawing you into her eyes. They were pale like her hair but full of a sort of presence as if I could simply search all my memories and find here there somewhere. Her whole appearence reminded me of nothing so much as a nice old mouse. No one can be scared of a woman who looks like a mouse.

I searched my memory trying to find something safe to tell this woman... everything suddenly was to much... I couldnt tell this therapist about my bad thoughts, even if she had looked like the easter bunny. So instead I stared at the cracking paint of her little closet office and let my mind just slip into the ether.

I feel like I am making nothing but mistakes, ruining everything I touch. It is almost like a visable cloud. I touch Aria and the blackness smudges her skin turning her lips down like she feels it or is going to cry. my brain hurts that ache in the front part that warns of storms and stray crumbs. I snap and lose it and words stream together incoherently losing capitolization and spelling. speed becoming the only thing necessary in the translation from mind to paper... screen... heart... mouth. Air intake and out take . alone in thought ... thought that creeps down my neck into the pit of my stomache turning me black, raking my skin. I dont belong ... the crying enters me and through me and into me. the smiles run and run from me... days are good days kill me the night goes forever and I lose touch. I am afraid of future and afraid of past more afraid of past I feel future gone alone scared confused losing ability

losing losing losing losing

help me help me help me

she screams from the top floor, from the street, from the fountain from the bloody wall, from the tear soaked bed.... she screams screams screams screams

I fall

step off the curb

sink

hit the wall

fill the bed bullet holes

past returning past recognition past hope

I kill hope every morning, she is there... she is me she is hope she is love she is beauty and she dies a thousand deaths a thousand ways a thousand pains.

slicing cutting shooting drowning starving bleeding falling scraping hitting raping hanging losing and always always dying over and over.

I want to live... Whispers through my head ... live and be loved and have a future.

My eyes twinkle with the battle in my mind. Who will win I wonder? the demon girl screaming for me to throw myself from buildings. or the sad little voice who wants to help me pick up the pieces and move on too being a mom, being a lover, being alive.

I destroy everything I touch.



The mouse smiles nods and listens with closed ears to my fake assurances of sanity. I havent an idea as to what I am saying or doing.. just lost in my world. Dreaming of being ... Extraordinary.

for a counselor who doesnt know and doesnt care, she really is a very nice mouse.