Acidic
Sitting here in bed waiting for the alcohol to fade from my system.
The surroundings have regained their shape. A few minutes ago a haze had caused it to morph into a strange land - my own room yet so unfamiliar. The burning sensation remains in my throat. The sour taste I had grown accustomed to resurfaces, telling me that it’s not over yet, that we are not done. How long have we been doing this? This constant shuffling backwards and forwards, this indecisive dance to the soundtrack of misgivings and doubts.
I run my tongue over my teeth, feel the unnatural roughness and try to put my thoughts in order. A part of me resents my vulnerability, a part of me rejoices it. A part of me barks at the world with spite, and a part of me cowers from the gigantic shadows looming over me. But what remains constant is the gnawing sense that, this feeling - what was its name? - is not a stranger. It feels like a constant companion, a friend almost, a conniving one who whispers alluring words in my ear.
I have kept this friend behind closed bars, and she, or he, I can no longer tell, was able to amass a great deal of power even in the recesses of my mind. Delving into compartments that contained my most fragile secrets, it grew into power. But it refused to lash out all at once and destroy its host in the process. Instead it bid its time. But it was always there, waiting for the bars to break down so it could run free. Occasionally it would peek from the cage, reach out violently and laugh and weep when its claws hit their target. Ironically this would be followed by whimpering, as if the creature had been the one who was hurt, and the one outside the bars would softly approach and try to touch it, and the cycle began again. For others it looked as if the creature was being provoked, perhaps even attacked, and only in self defense did it latch out. The cycle had become so jumbled that it was unclear who hurt who, who was the victim and who was the criminal.
I have more or less regained my natural state of my mind. The creature starts to slumber, purring quietly. When it will again awaken, I know not, but it still lies there, in my mind. Whether it is I who brought it to life, or someone else, or whether it is I who can kill it or someone else - or both, remains unanswered.
