They know everything about me. I sit here, on a white cot, with white blankets, in a white room, with white men standing all around me. My skin turns pale and soon I blend into the cot. Before I can stop myself, I've lost myself. In charts. In numbers. In heartbeats. In mutters through the night, if it night. You'd never know. The fluorescent lights are always humming. Or more so muttering. About me, of course. They think I'm a maniac. They think I don't know. But oh do I know. I know it all. That's why I laugh. That's why I can't close my eyes. I'm right. So, they know everything about me... they think. And that's down right hilarious.
May 2, 2011