Sometimes I think I see the let­ters on my desk rat­tling to the bass, but when I look, the let­ters are still. I sus­pect that my eyes are twitch­ing.

It was a heavy day. I’m too scram­bled inside to eat. I know I’ll be hun­gry first thing in the morn­ing.

“Malice”, he used. Not great, but good, and cer­tain­ly more than I deserve. I’m still para­noid.

Through every­thing else, some­one is test­ing me. Testing my new found seren­i­ty. Testing the very thing that I’ve been fight­ing against, for the last few years. The only per­son who can bring me to a desire for phys­i­cal man­i­fes­ta­tion of my rag­ing frus­tra­tion (aside from peo­ple who smoke around babies). On the bus, I uncon­trol­lably pic­tured wrap­ping my fin­gers around her neck, and stran­gling her. I know that that’s bad. Sometimes my own thoughts scare me. I’m not a vio­lent per­son.

The world is a twist­ed, twist­ed one-act.