I am My Own Monster

I am my own monster
By: Ra’Chaun Rogers

My name is Nelo Maxwell, for all intents and purposes. I need to sit and think while I get over myself before I start again. These sentences are jumbled and odd, like the fragmented pieces of dreams, which they’ve spawned from.
“Why did I fall into my head?” I shout and the noise bounces off the walls like a ball shot out of a cannon.
“To reconfigure it.” The echo came howling back screeching in my ears. “Follow me.”
I trek through the words and meanings at the base of my brain like a bushman through a swamp.
The words ricocheted off oddly angled wall, which depicted everything from my most horrifying fantasies to my most beautiful nightmares. I followed it into a dimly lit room. In the middle was a pedestal a blaze like a thousand suns; on it was a handgun.
What the hell am I supposed to do with this I wondered?
“Reconfigure, Take apart your head.” The echo called to me distorted and loud. “It’s a metaphor.”
I picked up the gun and stared at it for a long while. Is this all that dwells in my head a pathetic suicide attempt, a death wish?
“Fuck, Here goes nothing.” I pressed the cold muzzle of the gun to my temple, let out a restrained sigh and pulled the trigger.
The muzzle flashed but there was no pain, and suddenly I fell in slow motion, before me I saw my thoughts explode into thousands of pieces, it looked so beautiful then.
I saw her face assembled in a collage of intricate thoughts and beautiful sayings, sweet nothings that I lacked the capacity to deliver with feeling. I closed my eyes and heard the only three words that matter roll off of her lips, into my ears and down to my heart. It rested there my hope, my goal, my reward, my home, and my peace of mind… Reminding me that when this expedition through my Porcelain mind is over, I’ll still have that to keep myself from becoming a monster, which I have created.