more.

Baily just sat and stared thru closed lids, feeling the salt and water gathering but unwilling to fall She heard the voice of the other occupant in the room, heard the words- the consonants and vowels – the silence filled only by the whirring computer and footfalls outside the office door. All of it sounded so very far away, as if she were under all of the water gathering at the corners of her eyes.

She felt herself shaking, shivering almost, like a string strung taut too tight being plucked by gentle hands. Hands that were ever-so-careful not to break the thread, just firm enough to elicit some sort of response. And she saw her foot bouncing against the table and wondered why people, or their bodies, moved in certain ways when they were nervous, anxious, excited, or stressed. She didn’t ponder long, her mind was spinning far too quickly to stick around and hear the explanation about adrenaline, norepinephrine, flight-or-flight responses. No, her mind didn’t have that kind of attention span today.

Although, it kept hearing the same phrases over and over- some internal, others external. To me, your reaction seems perfectly normal… Stop letting her so close, stop letting her be a comfort It makes sense, to me… It’s not normal, you are not normal

The phrases fought like puppies rolling over one another, yapping and yelping. Sometimes, though, puppies get lost in their frolicking and tumble right over the edge of the ravine.

The Other…the other. Wrapped in soft giraffes, surrounded by papers, books, experience. All of which should have given her the authority to sift the voices apart. But perhaps not today Using words and silence interchangeably, holding on when perhaps she wanted to let go, calm and logical. Talking of moles at stations as if discussing freezer burned ice cream. Not enjoyable, but edible. Letting carefully chosen (probably) words slip from her tongue. Calling a spade a spade rather than an it.

Bailey heard the same words, but somehow they made her choke. They were sharper. They were tangible. They were dangerous. Poison to her tongue, not like freezer burned ice cream, rather more like arsenic or cyanide They were….necessary? She wasn’t sure what they were, other than real terrifying. But. necessary? As terrifying as the frustration muddling her thoughts, making logic, comfort, clarity inaccessible.

The other…the other wanted Bailey to look at her. To see. Seeing is believing? A song, a song, a song. Rhythm, unsyncopated. Disjointed. but beautiful? But the words are wrong. Similar, but not the old adage. The new truth?…My lullaby, hung out to dry/ What’s up with that?/ It’s over// Where are you Dad?/ Mum’s lookin’ sad/ What’s up with that?/ It’s dark in here// Why, bleeding is breathing/ You’re hiding underneath the smoke in the room/ Try, bleeding is breathing/ I used to// My mouth is dry/ F’got how to cry/ What’s up with that?/ You’re hurting me// I’m running fast/ Can’t hide the past/ What’s up with that?/ You’re pushing me// Why, bleeding is breathing/ You’re hiding/ underneath the smoke in the room/ Try, bleeding is breathing/ I used to// I used to// Why, bleeding is breathing/ You’re hiding underneath the smoke in the room/ Try, bleeding is believing/ I saw you, crawling on the floor// Why, bleeding is believing/ You’re hiding underneath the smoke in the room/ Try, bleeding is believing/ I saw you, crawling to the door// Why, bleeding is believing/ You’re hiding underneath the smoke in the room/ Try, bleeding is believing/ I saw you, falling on the floor…

But no,no no no NO. The other…the other’s not hurting her intetionally It’s just the way it is. She even said, Bailey heard, she even said so. Hey…I’m not trying to hurt you… And that was…truth. Truth. True. Honest. Real. sad She just wanted her to…see. But Bailey couldn’t. Her eyes drifted, unfocused, flew off to the side. Her head went down. Her inability to cope went up. Her stomach hurt, and her head. And her heart?It’s not the messenger, it’s the message

The other…the other never smoked in the room, no smokescreens to hide behind. Bailey had only her fear hair to shield herself. But even that was not cover, for those gentle hands were forever tucking it back behind her ears, putting it in plaits, shifting it to the other shoulder. She was always asking Baily What would help? What do you want? What are you thinking?she doesn’t know. she doesn’t know. she doesn’t know

Everything was a mess. Each breath came too quick or refused to be exhaled. U G L Y evil, evil little girl Stuck, in tar. Skin tearing if she tried to extricate herself. Tar knows truth. She’s sure of itof nothing…

Acrimonious acronyms. T with all of its sharp edgespoking S rolling over hersmashing P jabbing then rolling tearing then stretching too thin D rolling and then just sitting flat on top of hercrushing, asphyxiating

But the world never goes entirely black. There’s always at least a sliver of lighthope never hurt so much”hope” never made less sense
4.15.05/6.10pm