FicWad

Is it weird for my head to scare me? People would think I’m crazy. Insane even. You know it’s not my head its self that scares me, but the thoughts that it creates. The dark. The carnage. The blood. The dis-figured corpses of people. People I hate. People I dis-pise. Even people I don’t know. All of them in gruesome, horrific situations that I find comforting. It stays bottled up and dormant, till it erupts. It erupts from nowhere. It erupts without warning. Nothing supresses them. Nothing tunes them out. That is why my imagination scares me. The sick fantasies and ideas it creates. I want them to leave. I want myself detached form this sick place called my mind.

Some would say i need help. Others therapy. But I don’t want others in there because this place is mine. It is a place no one else can see. It’s a place I feel safe. Safe from the harms of a sick, twisted place. Not a place but a monster. A monster people named reality. This so called monster named reality is dark. It is full of hate. It causes carnage. It dis-figures corpses. And it is covered in blood. The blood of its victims. Its victims are the only ones who see it. They see it because the see the monster for what it is. This sick, twisted, blood thirst monster named reality.

So maybe this sick, twisted place in the depths of my so-called mind isn’t so horrific as I believe. Maybe this monster named reality is so much worse than what my imagination is capable of.

Yes my head is the safe haven. The safe haven from the sharp, twisted, blood stained claws of the monster. The monster named reality.