Riddles Without Answers & Celestial Mechanics - The Wicked

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.

I wept.

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.