I'm floating. It is very dark and it's very cold.
Or it could be hot, I'm not absolutely positive about that.
I can't see. I can't hear.
I don't feel anything. I don't believe this to be hell.
I just don't.
They come to me at times.
They come in ones or twos, or in multitudes I cannot comprehend.
Sometimes they're so small they crawl into mouth and my nostrils.
Sometimes they're bigger than the sky. Such as I remember it.
The sky that is. But sometimes...
Sometimes they look just like you and me.
And that's really the worst part.
And they start cutting into my flesh.
Sometimes I dream of hallways.
Here, in the emptiness it probably is the only thing soothing me.
Sometimes I'm visited by the paper men.
I never knew you could feel your soul.
But when they took it from me I felt utterly cold and alone.
Even more so than before.
After an unknown amount of time had passed they brought it back to me.
It was cauterized back in place.
But it wasn't the same.
They put it there inside-out.
I could feel it. Just when I thought that I'd endured it all.
That they'd run out of horrible things to do to me, they started working on my mind.