Hiro Jin Brodie

My therapist, he told me I should make a character, and become them.
But he never met one like me and he didn't know what I could create.

Inside me rests the result, one created out of the type of pain
that brings one down to the lowest place,
that of insanity and the numb.

He is something terrible
a reflection of all the shame
all the abuse and sadness drawn into a single figure.

He made me burst open my hands,
convinced me I was a prophet,
that this suffering was all part of Gods grand plan.

One day I asked him who I am talking to
When he responded
a lit match sealed the wound and created more.

He talks to me still, and I try not to listen
He is angry with me
because I have been ignoring him.

I do my best most days to shut him out,
and keep him hidden. But sometimes
when I am weak he calls out to me.

He whispers
and the best I can do is distract.
Loud noises, sex, drugs...

If he could, he would kill me,
take over my form,
hurt those that matter most to me

Sometimes, when I am weak
he succeeds.
Now I always have to hold back.

Even as I write this
he is thrashing inside of me
trying to tear himself free.

I know what madness feels like
to know reality is permeable
to slip into some hidden plane.

He is completely my fault.
He is my creation, my character,
The worst part.