I’m not talking, I’m screaming. Fears wake in the belly of my subconscious and I peel back the skin around my nail beds. It feels like nicotine fever- all sweaty and needing of the numbing char. It’s in my nature, you know. It’s counting tiles on the ceiling. Small repetitions. Talking back at the moon until it reminds me that I’m screaming. I’m tired too. My fingers ache. I’m a product of my mind and it tells me to suffer every time. So when I show myself light my eyes will water. I’ll be reminded that they are tears. That the darkness and light need each other in order to exist. And maybe I’ll no longer be afraid of either. AMT