“Darkness has always been on my side. What use have I ever had for the light, aside for its defining the borders of my zone of protection? Blackness keeps me safe.”

-My words.

I found this scrap of an idea taped one morning to the glass in my box of glass—morning defined as the moment I emerged from my reverie, aware of the reality of my encasement in Hell.
I suppose as I lived it, my life was truly defined by the marginal areas of shadows and glare.
Surely this was tacked to the glass—the outside of the glass, to be sure, so I can’t remove it—as testament to the initial inspiration these demons took as their point of departure when the basic situation was being dreamed up for me.
I am in the spotlight; I am visible. I am exposed. I’m naked, illumined, blatant. Even my body casts no shadow for a pinch of privacy. My eyes ache, but I see just fine.
Don’t tell them: now my imagination is the only protection I have left to me. I hide in my head: the only shelter from the cruelty of the light.