gunneos

Dear Guinn, When the blackness becomes a familiar blanket I try so hard not to get lost in its folds. There are ghosts in them, demons denied, boogeymen waiting. They talk to me calmly, which is a surprise, because one thinks of demons as wild, mischievous, chaotic creatures. But not my demons. They’re calm, like counsellors, telling me gloomy things that have no good endings. They coax from me things I don’t want to feel, fishing out pieces that have no business being inside of me. The scary part is how they convince me that it’s okay to play with these dark, dark emotions, and I… I start to believe them.