"The Monsters will get to me."
"The Monsters will get to me."
"The Monsters will get to me."
I remember slowly rocking in a corner.
"They will come back to reap what they have sown."
"They will come back to reap what they have sown."
"They will come back to reap what they have sown."
With each repetition the stress I felt became stronger.
"I am the crop and my worries the sithe."
"I am the crop and my worries the sithe."
"I am the crop and my worries the sithe."
The Crop's Pop, that was our drink. Her favorite beer.
"It has been a good wet rainy season."
"It has been a good wet rainy season."
"It has been a good wet rainy season."
Shapes and memories from the dark spilled out of the glass bottle and dripped down the table, running across the floor, reaching for me.
"The rain is the pain they shower upon me and they watch me grow in torture."
"The rain is the pain they shower upon me and they watch me grow in torture."
"The rain is the pain they shower upon me and they watch me grow in torture."
Insanity. That's all I felt. The only person I have ever loved left me to find her hanging in my apartment. Our alcohol was the only relief.
"The seeds are the fear cascaded down from my mind pressed into the soil with untrustworthiness and fear as the fertilizer."
I felt a hand take mine. There was no way to explain the way it felt warm and cold at the same time as it guided me over till I was standing on a chair. A blurry drunken image of the girl who hung from the celling fan a month ago shown as a rope slide around my neck.
"You are not real. I only see Monsters now."
She smiled as her face and body seemed to twist and contort. The last thing I heard was the kick of the chair and her words,
"Silly boy. I have always been the Monster."
