The Still (II)
by James Michael Rice
Late at night, when the hour is none, I dream the dreams of the damned. I satisfy my every desire without guilt or shame or consequence. I dwell only in the darkest regions of the human soul, that secret place where nightmares, dreams, and fantasies are born, and I know what it means to be truly free.
Let me assure you, whoever you may be, I’m not the least bit crazy. Sometimes I think it would be better if I really were crazy, because then it would be so much easier to accept the fact that I’m already dead.
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