Placing a hand over each ankle, he lit me on fire.
He was invisible, of course.
I lay back and watched the candle flame next to my bed on the wooden nightstand flicker.
I listened as the tiny townspeople in my body began to scream and desperately pray to God.
I waited as tiny little UFO’s appeared over my body, rescuing survivors to take onto the next world human, the next planet, the next host.
As I lay there, gradually the noise subsided and I turned into smoke, another black hole in an endless sea of dark matter but I wanted to be like him, like my invisible lover who would hold me at night and who would listen to all of my thoughts.
I don’t know who he is or where he is from but I miss him now that he’s gone.
I miss being lit on fire.
Now I have the most obnoxious voices ringing in my head and I don’t know what to do about them.
It’s a feeling of loneliness and helplessness when you can’t sleep and all you have are gnats that pluck at your ear drums endlessly.
Psychically, I suppose I’m a mess.
Comments