I can't seem to face up to the facts I'm tense and nervous and I can't relaxI can't sleep 'cause my bed's on fire Don't touch me, I'm a real live wire
My Lips Are Sealed
I always thought my hand had a mind of its own. At night, it danced on the wall, casting shadows that twisted and turned, forming shapes that whispered secrets only I could understand. It was my friend, my confidant in the silent hours when the world outside my window slept. But sometimes, the shadows grew teeth, and their whispers turned into growls.
One evening, the dance began as usual. My fingers contorted into a familiar shape, a rabbit, perhaps, or was it a dog this time? The shadow on the wall shifted, morphing into something new, something… sinister. It wasn’t an animal or any figure I intended to create. It was a creature of darkness, with eyes that glowed with malice.
I tried to pull my hand back, but it refused to obey. It moved on its own, its motions sharp and erratic, as if it were in a fight with an invisible enemy. I watched, horrified, as the shadow creature grew larger, its form more defined. It was no longer just a trick of the light. It was alive, breathing, and it was angry.
I Am A Real Live Wire
The air in the room turned cold, my bed was on fire and a sense of dread filled me. My hand, once a source of amusement, now seemed alien, a traitor that had brought this terror into my world. I pleaded with it, begged it to stop, but it only moved faster, the shadow creature becoming more agitated, its growls louder.
Then, it spoke. Its voice was a hiss, a sound that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. It knew my name. Also, It told me things, dark secrets about myself that I had never uttered aloud. Finally, It promised power, revenge against those who had wronged me, but at a price. A price I was not willing to pay.
We Are Vain And We Are Blind
In a moment of panic, I did the unthinkable. I grabbed a pair of scissors from my desk, the cold metal feeling oddly comforting in my other hand. With a cry that was part terror, part defiance, I turned against my own flesh. Blood spilled, a stark contrast against the pale skin, but the shadow creature only laughed, its form growing clearer with each drop that fell.
It was then, in that moment of madness, that I saw the truth. The demon I feared, the creature that threatened to consume me, was my own hand. There was no shadow creature, no external force of evil. It was me. I was the monster.
The realization hit me like a physical blow. I had become so lost in my own mind, so consumed by loneliness and despair, that I had turned against myself. I have started a conversation, I could’not even finish. My hand, my once loyal friend, lay wounded because of my own actions.
As I sat there, surrounded by the aftermath of my own psychosis, I understood the true horror. It wasn’t the shadows or the imagined threats that were to be feared. It was what lay within, the darkness that resides in us all, waiting for a moment of weakness to take hold.
Don’t Touch Me
And in that darkness, I found my story. A tale of a girl and her hand, of shadows that whispered and a mind that fractured. A confession of the horror that comes not from the outside, but from within.
Psycho KillerQu'est-ce que c'est?
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