Danielle Boehler 5/27/13 5th Hour Her Demons

We hide behind her restless eyes. We find comfort in the deepest recesses of her mind. We are the voices only she can hear. From the outside she appears crazy because no one can hear our voices like she can. We are the schizophrenia. The reason she excessively sleeps, or rarely does at all. She puts the palms of her petite powerless hands over the ears that she wishes she didnt have, and screams as loud as her lungs will allow because the sound of our voices never fades, and she cant bare it. She paces the motionless white room muttering to herself because the sound of any voice sounds better to her than ours does. We are the bizarre behavior. The reason she stares blankly for hours, or uncontrollably blinks. She gently slips her arm over the sharp edge of the worn and broken bed spring, hoping our voices would accompany the deep red blood draining out onto the frigid cement floor of the cruel sanitarium that she would never be leaving. We are the inappropriate laughter. The reason she finds an unmarked concrete wall so humorous. She stares off into the distance as if her gaze stretches a thousand miles, and points at what she believes to be oversized insects descending down the barren walls. But when the doctors come to her rescue, they see nothing. She is insane. We are her inability to express joy. The reason she will never again be able to say she is truly happy. She reminisces on her past and cant seem to remember any memories other than the ones she tries so hard to forget. She cannot look onward in life because this room is what it consists of. This agonizing rough bed, freezing cement floor, and steel door with a small square allowing the light of civilization to pour into the room and rest upon the floor. She can run, but she will never escape.

Danielle Boehler 5/27/13 5th Hour We are her demons; she will never drown us, for we know how to swim.