Edge of Sanity

Dear Friend:

To my sacred friend, my mysterious confidante who questioned the existence of my own sanity. Today is the first day of spring and I write to you today because I find myself having suffered through a number of unpleasant ordeals in my life that I can’t understand how I entered. I write to you because you are the only friend that didn’t seek out your own gain. Although you may not truly be my friend, only another diluted figure of my overactive imagination, if you find reason to read my story then you are more valuable than one can understand. You, like me, just want to know my legend. I am constantly poked and prodded and I just felt the need to write to a person whom I can trust. Now, I may not have all the answers, but I surely have majority of the questions. My life is more complex than I can comprehend, so I hope you can follow along. I’ll go from start to finish so you can fully understand my plight. Though I may go back and forth, I just need you to feel how I felt for quite some time.

I’d like to begin by giving you some nourishment for thought; this may help to cast you into my state of mind. So, I ask you, how often do we find ourselves plunged into the morbid chasm that is our souls? Constantly we tread these roads and walkways with brooding eyes and salivating jaws as our inner selves check out in an attempt to prowl around in our insides searching for new meaning within us. What senses do our essences contain? I suppose if I were to remove “senses” from the word all that would be left is es, which stands for “is” in Spanish. My soul is senseless if you will. Either that or my mind…no, no not my mind. See, for I am the goddess of wisdom reincarnated. Therefore, I am as mentally capable as they come. I am however, soulless.

My dear friend, I find myself confined to a room quilted with white walls. I at times discover myself losing where one corner ends and the doorway begins. You may ask what is the goddess of wisdom doing locked in a white, or maybe it’s an off-white bastille. Well, I ask my keeper Isis that many a day and she never responds. She is such a simple deity, so much where she can be so frustrating. Most of the time however, she cries. When the room is still, soft winds blow and if you listen closely, you can hear her docile moans and temperate whispers, “......” I’d tell you what they were if I knew the name she called out. I can tell you that her voice drips with lament. Yet, I wish she’d just shut up and get me the hell out of here. I am trapped dear friend, with no escape.

Be it all the same, I do enjoy the golden wreath that she rests atop my tangled locks. At night in the creases of my brain, I sit upon a glorious throne, capped in idolized gems and inestimable jewels. When I sit on my throne, I foresee the domination of all the worlds before me. Although gluttonous siblings lurk in the dark clouds around me, I shall reign supreme. However, what scares me most is the provoked asp that slithers around my fig baskets. The way he eyes me is unnerving. I grip my plush armrests as he gets closer and closer to my left breast. Hitherto, I have veered from the focal point, my soul; lost tragically in my wayward discernments, mislaid in my entrails. Woe truly is me…