Falling through the slippery fingers of consciousness.
All the time, I can feel the driving pursuit of the other beings that inhabit me.
I know they are always lurking there,
Waiting for the smallest fault in my control,
And once they take over, I no longer have a choice in what I do.
I am often at the mercy of their will, of who they are,
And my body is the car they take the wheel of.
The sting in my wrist reminds me of how far they can go once they take over,
And my fear is what they wait for.
No matter how many times I tell myself not to be afraid,
I know they will come back,
Now my mistakes are inevitable.