I can’t seem to find an image online to show you exactly, the vision I have of the girl that has been showing herself inside of me.
A technology to soon be invented, I am sure.
Vision to Google.
I’ll wait for my cheque.
So, she’s thin, pale white skin of course.
She’s got long, black, scraggly hair.
She’s in a spaghetti strap, tattered dress, think Paper Bag Princess.
Her bony fingers have claws that are now scratching the shit out of my insides.
She’s screaming, to be let out.
She makes me want to tear everything to pieces.
I entertain that she is there, could I free the energy?
Grab a nicely set dinner table and flip it over?
I visualize myself on the dance floor with my friends.
The music helps.
I tell her “I’m sorry, I don’t know how to help you.”
She’s wrestling the cage of my chest, pleading to be let out.
I crank the Icaros in my headphones, “why won’t they go any louder?”
I feel a sense of relief but the energy is building.
She’s on the floor of the cave, “Phoebe.”
She wants me to sing.