It feels cold but the sun is out and shining above. Tiny bumps rapidly spread across the surface of my skin but I can feel sweat forming at my neck and forehead. It’s a coldness that does not affect the skin, it is far too numb. It hurts. Everything is tightening and my muscles cannot move without searing pain shooting through my head and body. I shouldn't be here. Outside the birds are chirping happily and the gentle breezes is wrestling the leaves on the trees. It’s a view I have become quite accustomed to. I used to think it was beautiful but now it all seems so manique, fake and boring. I shouldn't be here.
From the other side of this window it is but a moving painting. It is far from prefect but also a large distance different from original. I shouldn't be here. This rocking chair beside the window is my pedestal. It comforts me to be wrapped in its plush cushions but it is too refining. With the arm rests telling me where I should rest my limbs and the back of it sticking up so vertically as if to tell me to fix my posture. Every day, day after day, I sit in the chair even though it bothers me so. I look out the window to find a piece of mind but it only seems to confuse me more. Nothing seems right about anything. I shouldn't be here.
I am told that today I must interest with people. It’s not healthy to be alone they say. Everyone keeps telling me that I cannot close myself off from people because sadness with consume me. However it is quite the opposite. Isolation is my happiness. Silence is my comfort and peace.  When people are close by, that is when it begins. The cold. Muscles tightening, mind freezing. I shouldn't be here.
I can hear them breathing, moving, every sound they make makes my ears cry. There are so many of them, I cannot focus on one thing. The feeling of eyes all around. It is overwhelming. My head is spinning too fast and my stomach is doing somersaults. Everything is getting blurry. Then stop. I can see the movements of their mouths and bodies but its slower than time. I cannot hear everything. Just one single heartbeat. Boom boom. It’s so slow. Then there they are, the little bumps starting at my toes and rapidly dancing up my spine. I shouldn't be here.
They have to go. The bumps shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be here. The pain won’t bother me.
It stings, it hurts, but it’s beautiful. The lines are original. The crimson red is different. I fixed it. The bumps are gone. All the bothers are gone. I couldn't think of a better painting. A better masterpiece than a fixed soul that is finally freed from the confining skin. The blood is dancing out of the lines and the soul will be free soon enough.