pandemonium † muke [en-slow updates]

8 (minutes)

Luke is the name that echoes inside my head. I have no idea of why or what it is. Or who it is.

My inconscious mind, its lack of logic, it just pisses me off. Because I don't remember who he is.

I punch the wall made of glass.

And my knuckles don't break. And even less the glass shatters. And I'm still stuck in a vicious cycle.

But unlikely some hours -minutes, seconds, i don't know- ago, I'm able to remember what I was thinking before.

I was thinking of the one I'm not able remember. The one I can't remember.

I punch the wall again in defeat for not knowing who I was.

Was.

Was.

Was.

Was.

Was.

This habit I have to repeat words and phrases makes me hit my head in the frosted glass behind me. An habit. . A hint of the past.

The past I still have.

The habit of repeating.

The habit of doubting the locked up demons.

The habit of remembering him without knowing who he is.

The habit of remembering the same damn crap of death, love and teasing over and over again.

The habit of watching everything carefully.

Watching carefully that walls are made of glass and my dreams are made of ice.

But what are my dreams ?

Who are my dreams?

All of that is just a compilation of a story that has happened. I can feel it.

Because, certainly I am not insane.

I am not insane. I am not insane.

I still have some sanity left. If not I would probably  try to punch this place down.

But I've tried.

And I punch the wall again, my fists colliding with the rough cold wall.

I slide my fingers, tracing the bitter line. My will to scream filling up my chest, because c'mon somebody's gotta hear me. Somebody's gotta hear me at some moment.

"Is somebody there?" I yell.

And beyond of all that fog, filled with light, I see a red stain.

A red stain moving outside.

Something alive.

And I freak out. I'm not alone.

I'm not alone.

I'm not alone.

I'm not alone.

Standing up, my fist flies against the glass, punching a lot of times. Because I'm not dreaming. I'm sure of that.

I'm sure there's somebody outside.

Outside.

After all, the demons are outside.

And here inside.

Here.

Inside my heart.

I stop punching as soon as I realize that.

As soon as I realize my attitudes.

Who knows, the demons outside -or who knows maybe the ones inside- are my judges, right? They will evaluate my mental health, is that it?

Then they will have to let me go.

Because I'm not insane.

I'm not insane.

I'm not insane, Luke.

Luke.

Luke.

L.

U.

K.

E.

Luke R.