Your throat begins to heave and plunge. You’d surely be sick if your stomach was anywhere to be found. Luckily, it isn’t. Then the room begins to spin. The angels in your ears whisper the most horrific secrets. You thank the gods you’re mad. If you weren’t–if others heard the vile things reverberating inside your head, you’re certain the world would end.

Shaking doesn’t begin to describe the seizures that grip your spine. They tear your seams, light your muscles afire, and rip your lungs as you gasp for air. You know it can’t always be nor could it always have been like this, but at this moment, an eternity in time, you can’t remember a time when you were whole and sane and safe.

As your mind pours out in salt-filled streams, the angels carry on with their black hymns. Your eyes glaze over. You empty yourself to ease your fears and let those abhorrent angels say what they will. You are not there; you do not feel. With your breath caught in your throat, you have forever been and will always be utterly alone.