The room with the red wall. Everything is backwards. Again. My world, my thoughts, feelings and desired orbiting around me in reverse. Again. Everybody walks backwards, talks backwards, thinks backwards and drives in reverse. I am motionless watching this reversed parody of the world as I know it. The red wall smiles at me. Strobe lights appear from nowhere and cast their spell inside this little room. The music starts pulsating backwards. It’s the only thing that makes sense in reverse.
I want to punch the wall till I bleed. I want to paint the red wall again with blood. I want to bleed and let the pain become pleasure and let the pleasure caress my brain. I am in a fit of rage. Or is it ecstasy? I keep punching the walls until my knuckles are sore. My fist is weak, but my brain forgets to stop punching. I want to shed my skin, rip myself away from me. But how can I, when I can’t even shed my shadow?
Love turns to lust turns to something darker. Slow motion dreams in reverse. Where am I going? Or where am I coming from? What am I running from?
I hear his voice for the first time. Piercing my brain, he tells me what I want to hear, and I listen quietly, as the red wall looms in front of me. The paint begins to drip turning a shade darker. My mind blocks out everything except his voice. He tells me how to be, who to be, what to say, what to do. I am in a trance and I suffer my desires.
I sacrifice my mind to the unknown knowing well that it will not result in good. I split myself apart, until I don’t recognize myself and I can’t be put back together. I split myself until all I’m are shards of glass put together to resemble a cracked image. Who am I now? What do I believe? Where is my voice of reason? Now I see the world through a cracked glass. A cracked world in reverse. There is no turning back now.
The dark recess which I call home begs me to come back but I am too far gone.