Its fierce eyes stare at me with an intensity that burns. It burns through my skin and singes the delicate edges of who I thought I was. Burning eyes and stinging needles hang off my arms and neck like a needy child, clawing at pieces of good and tarnishing their shine. Sometimes it thinks it’s hiding, but I can feel it there, like the monster you know is under your bed. They’re the red bloodshot eyes of a murderer, yet they’re the big blue innocent ones of a child; I can’t see them and I can all at once. My body’s transparent but my actions are as opaque and real as the black paint dripping from my forehead. There are words painted there that I don’t need to see to read. Drip. The paint’s cold but each letter burns into me like a brand. My chest is black with dripping paint and the whole world is laughing. I try to wrap myself around who I seem to be, but all that results is more black stains. The eyes are laughing like they can’t even see me. The nails are scratching an indecipherable pattern across my back. I burn, I ache, I seethe. But I won’t cry. There is nothing to be afraid of. Stop staring. It’s only me.

- don't forget your raincoat...