The Lullaby

She tucks herself in under a quilt of thick and foggy darkness.

Her wary eyes track the flat shadows as they flicker across the walls.

Poetry under her pillow, pen in her hand, she

-almost- feels safe. (She never feels safe.)

A mournful lullaby of memories sings her to sleep--

III

No, no, no, no!

Do you want to get married? …maybe someday. I mean, do you want to marry me?

He touched me here...

He kissed me here.

You’re not too ugly.

Whatever, I don’t care.

She’s a paranoid schizophrenic.

I hate myself. I hate my life.

Why? Just tell me why!

I think if there was ever anything you didn’t tell me, it would only be because I didn’t need to know.

III

--Sarah, is there something that you want to tell me?

Stop, start, wake up--

III

She tells herself it wasn’t a nightmare.

She tells herself she didn’t almost faint yesterday morning,

concentrated bursts of pain surrounding her skull,

silver emptiness narrowing in,

her body swaying dangerously, like a corpse in a noose.

She tells herself the usual lies, and listens to the lullaby.

A/N: Not sure if it’ll make sense to anyone but me. I'm also not sure if it's actually finished. Typically I don’t do the whole bolded/underline/italics thing, but I couldn’t resist. And in some places they actually mean something.