Sanity

I think of my sanity as a fragile aluminum cover over a turmoil of boiling, foaming water in a pot. I can’t keep it down. Its a makeshift sanity, but I don’t have anything other than it. The skin of my hands is scalding off, and foil can only hold so much. The rules are: the fire will not stop and  you can’t take the pot. Its not that easy. They are in an inseparable symbiosis. The foam will soon change back into me. I left my old skin inside for a fake one (that looks more fashionable and normal), and I already knew it would never work. Yet I still hope it won’t spill over. If it gets out of the pot, this body will be re-absorbed into it. I will forget reason. I don’t want to forget what I am until now. I kind of like what I am until now. The thing inside is hideous.