Excrutiating. Uncomfortable. This nakedness. These corridors. Psycho-eyed and leering, the plonker who accompanies me tonight is saying, “hmm, you could do to lose a few pounds … you can't go in there, not like that. They'll laugh. All of them. You think they care? You're wrong. No good. Past it. You can't do it anyway, if you ever could - look at you!”I'm furious but I cannot shake him. He's here, nipping tired heels and heart. Savouring humiliation. Relentless. I despise his critical animosity. I loathe him. Because he is me; and I'm sad that I create a man-me to project my negativity. It doesn't have to be a nightmare full of gory sacrifice for a dream to suck!
*image: applegallery.com
