Eh?
I see myself, in my mind, in a small prison cell. Built by my own hands, or one set of me. There are three prisoners inside, trapped between layers and layers of...mentality.
One of me, forarms bulky, eyes sunken, fingers thick. Brooding and snarling, reading to leap to action, to fight, to conquer. I fear him, but I keep him in check, close to heart.
The second of me stays far away from the two of me. Arms closed around something that resembles a half book half laptop. Pen cluched in weak hands, cruely bruised. This me has no mouth, he tries to speak but is stopped. He is undoubtly the logic in me, but I cant seem to realse him, let him become my bold spirit.
The third I fear the most, I imagine a small child, no more than four feet tall. Dark hair flows down his face, red eyes peer from out of this streaming black hair. He has no form, he makes no movement. He is akin to a gator, waiting while his enemies grow tired, holding his energy until he can lunge and take control of his brothers. His thoughts are sinister, naughty, childish, mean, paranoid, obsessive, feeding. He is cunning, brutal, but not like the first, subtle is how he works. When the other two are arguing, debating, ignoring he slips his dark tenderal child arms out and grabs hold of my emotions. Grips them until they bleed and mutate. I name him poison and drug, he kills me and yet I cant let go of him. His voice is booming, like hundreds of drums, it sounds like the voice of reason, but after he has spoken, after I say what he has advised I say, after I have done as he has told me...I know what it feels to be backstabbed.
Et tu, Kurtis.
One of me, forarms bulky, eyes sunken, fingers thick. Brooding and snarling, reading to leap to action, to fight, to conquer. I fear him, but I keep him in check, close to heart.
The second of me stays far away from the two of me. Arms closed around something that resembles a half book half laptop. Pen cluched in weak hands, cruely bruised. This me has no mouth, he tries to speak but is stopped. He is undoubtly the logic in me, but I cant seem to realse him, let him become my bold spirit.
The third I fear the most, I imagine a small child, no more than four feet tall. Dark hair flows down his face, red eyes peer from out of this streaming black hair. He has no form, he makes no movement. He is akin to a gator, waiting while his enemies grow tired, holding his energy until he can lunge and take control of his brothers. His thoughts are sinister, naughty, childish, mean, paranoid, obsessive, feeding. He is cunning, brutal, but not like the first, subtle is how he works. When the other two are arguing, debating, ignoring he slips his dark tenderal child arms out and grabs hold of my emotions. Grips them until they bleed and mutate. I name him poison and drug, he kills me and yet I cant let go of him. His voice is booming, like hundreds of drums, it sounds like the voice of reason, but after he has spoken, after I say what he has advised I say, after I have done as he has told me...I know what it feels to be backstabbed.
Et tu, Kurtis.