thoughts and kind-of-sort-of prose

During a Breakdown

The issue with sleeping alone, is that my inner demon has room to lay beside me. The bed will slouch with its weight and my back will burn from its hands.
I do not want to be alone with it.
It reminds me of the things I'm trying to forget, reminding me of the times it held my hand. I feel It on my skin like acid and I want nothing more than to peel out of my flesh.
I do not want it to think I'm weak.
So I stare at the wall and I let it play through the moments that gave me scars, and the moment the clothes hanger broke, and the moment I pulled the wet towel off my head and instead of sobbing in fear, I sobbed at cowardice.
My demon smoothes my hair, and toys at my eye bags. I look at the clock and I'm insulted by the time.
I do not turn over. I do not want to face it. I do not want to think anymore. I want to sleep.
Blocking it out is a losing battle.
It plays everything over again. Every word that hurt, intentioned or not. No matter if it was years ago, days ago, hours ago. It plays them and I am forced to think over and over and over and over and over and over again.
I just want to sleep.
I cry in frustration. I cry in discomfort. When the sky outside starts to ignite, my demon will kiss me on the cheek. It will burn. All of me will burn and then I will feel nothing. When i am reduced to three hours of a numb frame and exhaustion, my demon uses me as an accessory.
It lives through me.
And a part of me wants it to be seen so I can finally pass it off to someone else. So that maybe when it makes me want to crawl out of my skin someone with cooler hands will touch me and I'll forget that I'm a house fire in a house no one cares about anymore.
Or maybe I should just get a smaller bed.