Inspired by an eponymous prompt conceived by a close friend. I invite you to give it a go.
Beneath the floor above my mind is that space between the underscore of all your lies, with eroded colors and peeling lines like old graffiti that fades only when the damage has undermined what once was a beautiful mind. Beneath the floor above my mind stagnant tears rush to fill the emptied sulci, the folds no longer discernible, and my fears seep beneath the floor filtered through the cracks that you yourself have torn. Bereaved of pain is what makes the mind rave if in fact that pain is what filled the mind past the line of no return. Beneath the floor above my mind is a crawl space for me to hide and ask myself who and where am I. See, for when you left what once was full you took me with you, and left behind this mash of mold curled sidelong with all the books that we had written, and all the ones that we didn’t, at least not with my permission. Though for that, you are forgiven. I don’t care about my things you chose to write on. The only thing I hate you for is that, beneath the floor above my mind, you could’ve at least let the light on.
Beneath the Floor Above My Mind by Thomas Baruzzi is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.