To write, to forget…

Backlit keyboard Por Colin (Trabajo propio) [CC-BY-SA-4.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0)%5D, undefined.

To write, to forget. A little face comes to see me. My smile is bigger than his head. But his eyes are prettier than mine. “What can I do for you, little face?”. “Nothing”. I wait for something, but he only looked at me. “Why are you with me, little…?”. “Just, shut up”. I just can’t understand why the room become so dark suddenly. The eyes are in the same place, watching, just watching. I try to stand up, but, my arms and legs are frozen. I felt a cold breth upon my neck, the eyes are gone. The little voice says: “What have you done, dude?”. “I don’t know, I’m just gone. I’m lonely woman, this is what you have to know, pretty”. My mouth moves without my consciousness. I’m still frozen, and the little face is upon my head. What is that in his hand? It could be a knife? My arm finally react, I take the weapon, the little face, and remove them of my body. I jump to the ground, and suddenly is day again. I have to write about it, I have to forget.

Mr. Doubt comes to see me, and says that he wants to show me something he discovered in his long travel around the world. The little face again. Mr. Doubt smile, I looked beyond his body, and found evil. My scream is incredibly loud, some tears dry on their own. “I cannot trust in anybody”. Doubt start to run behind me, the room becomes bigger, and the color of the things show themselves more real. A knife, again. I take the weapon and cut a mirror. Everything is dark again. “What have you done, dude?”.

The little eyes, the little face. It’s a boy, it’s Michael. “Brother…”, I finally said, “they tried to make me go to rehab, but I won’t go”. “You deserve something more”, he shows his tattoo of me in front an open sea. A paper it’s in my hands… “Read it”, says Michael.

It´s like a dream,
It´s a nightmare;
your face, your teeths,
are my favorite scream…

“Who wrote this, little brother?”. He is gone. I’m going back to black. I don’t want that. A man of white dress appears and says: “If you don’t want my aid, help yourself”. What is the mean of his words? I’m between the cheats, they are my life. Amy, Amy, Amy. “What have you done, dude? What kind of fuckery is this?”. I’m a dancer in the dark. I have to move. The joy is too much for me, the little eyes, the knife, remains the same. They are looking me always, anyways. “I’m a murderer, what problem do you have with that?”. “Shut up”. I have to write, I have to forget…
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