I lay alone at night measuring the seconds between creeks of grown walls and those of old wooden floorboards croaking in pain. My eyes scream open as blood rushes to my head, pounding–throbbing as my face tightens in a heated twist and my ears steam from this paranoia.
Has he come for me? This night, my last? I wish I had told you what I’d kept hidden. Two tears sting down my blazed cheeks and I bury myself with heavy sheets. A confession in darkness is the fruit of darkness. And if I hold Eve’s apple, would it then hold the wisdom you’d want?