Guilt [is] A Tool, Rather Than A

The Fire, The Fire. It Rages Within, A Campfire And Then An Inferno, And My Body Is Its Fuel. I Feel It Racing Through Me, Eating Away At The Weight. There Is Nothing That Can Kill Me Now; I Am Powerful And Invincible And Eternal.

Two Things You Should Know About Me; The First Is That I Am Deeply Suspicious Of People In General. It Is My Nature To Expect The Worst Of Them. And The Second Is That I Am Unexpectedly Good With Computers.

I See A Few Hands Stretching Out To Me At The Edge Of The Net, So I Grabbed The First One I Could Reach And Pull Myself Across. I Roll Off, And Would Have Fallen Face-first Onto A Wood Floor If He Had Not Caught Me. "he" Is The Young Man Attached To The Hand I Grabbed. He Has A Spare Upper Lip And A Full Lower Lip. His Eyes Are So Deep-set That His Eyelashes Touch The Skin Under His Eyebrows, And They Are Dark Blue, A Dreaming, Sleeping, Waiting Color.

Yesterday He Told Me He Thought I Would Have To Pretend To Be Weak, But He Was Wrong. I Am Weak Already. I Brace Myself Against The Wall And Press My Forehead To My Hands. It’s Difficult To Take Deep Breaths, So I Take Short, Shallow Ones. I Can’t Let This Happen. They Attacked Me To Make Me Feel Weak. I Can Pretend They Succeeded To Protect Myself, But I Can’t Let It Become True.

I Want To Be Brave, And Selfless, And Smart, And Kind, And Honest.