The Object of Illusion

You do not speak enough

I am not the one who you want to be friends with

I cannot trust people

I hold ribbons in my hands, but they were made to hold my hair in place

I do not wish to be confined, to be contained in a single space; I wish to run like the mascara does, down your face as you cry; because when you cry, you are beautiful

I am not the same person I was before, and when I roam my own house, I do not see the residue of my past lingering on walls and lining the insides of my heaters

I am changing, I wish to know into whom

I do not see the residue of my past lingering on walls and lining the insides of my heaters because I see shadows; a blurry mirage of a montage waiting

I am blossoming into a creature

But, I am not blossoming into creatures that feed on mind and sanity; not blossoming into creatures that like the taste of black ink, or flesh; I am not turning into a beast

But, beasts are misunderstood, and entities of darkness are just that... -entities of darkness, are they not?

They are cries of attention and only yearn to be loved, love them and let them take you by the hand to their burrows; know them and let them tell you stories of when they were younger.

These cult fantasies cannot harm you, they are harmed only by the notion of light; they are harmed only by the notion of reality.

That is what they are all there for; to rid reality, an escape. 

A wonderful oasis that opens up and swallows you whole and leaves you bed wettingly frightened... but for such a short time.

Or... or you become one of the followers of Stine, my most beloved author of my most beloved series: /Goosebumps/.

That is wonderful, their purpose is to reinvent the concept of fear and to distill it in your mind, and that is wonderful.

Fear is wonderful.

But, in reality, there is too much of it.