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We Don’t Talk About the Stuff in the Basement.

My blunt force trauma. An axe blow to the head.

I wake up half-conscious, dizzy–near paralyzed.

Trying desperately to recollect the memory of what happened–and what consequently led to the unfolding of these events.

Life is quite simple really but then why do we insist on making it hard?

They don’t love me. They never did. Ouch. That’s gonna hurt in the morning.

What’s behind that black door and what are they keeping in the basement and what don’t they want me to know?

Fuck it, I’ll take matters into my own hands the same way they unabashedly sought to secure my demise.

I tip-toe down to the basement, staggering still and in shock from the head trauma.

I may be going into this recklessly but all I know is facing things head on.

I try to ease my step yet I lose balance and fall pitifully down the stairs.

There’s a lot to be uncovered here. Things left unnoticed, unperturbed, relegated to the subconscious mind. Covered in a slew of cobwebs. This stuff has been left alone for decades. Even centuries…

Now that’s drama for your trauma…