I’m having problems differentiating the things I imagine from actual events.
I don’t know who I can trust.
I have violent urges every time I handle a blade.
I wake up thrice a night in a blind panic
Are they here to get me?
Is there blood on my hands?
It feels like there’s a hand-blender inside my mind.
And someone keeps pushing ‘froth’
If I confess these things, they might seal me away.
In a cage of the best intentions
But would the ground beneath my feet
Stop slipping away?