I know you haven’t slept. The dark circles, the yawns, the blank stare—your exhaustion gives you away. Your body begs for rest, but your mind refuses. It spins, wild and restless, crashing against your sanity. At night, it wanders where it shouldn’t—digging up corners you sealed long ago. The demons don’t stay hidden; they crawl out, off the walls, onto the ceiling, circling your bed like vultures. You pray, like always, but sleep never comes. You beg. You bargain. You plead again. But God probably sleeps just fine. Your heart pounds like it wants to escape. Everyone leaves. Why not your heart too? You tremble. You can’t breathe. You run—to the door, but it’s locked; Always is. So you crawl under the table, shaking, trying hard to remember what was so frightening. A voice calls your name, muffled by your heartbeat. Then a hand. You scream. You fight. But they were stronger. The filth, the stench, the pain—it seared through you like a fire that never goes out. He came to calm you. You saw him at last through the fog, and your screams softened into whimpers. But nothing was ever the same. Not the sunrise. Not your dreams. Nightmares count as dreams too, don’t they? Fear now wears your face. Misery clings to you like a second skin. And yet today, you got up. You patched yourself together, slipped on the armor—intelligence, wit, patience, even kindness. A dazzling mask. It’s a good one. But not good enough. I still see you. I see the tremors, the empty smile, the pain behind the polish. You’re broken. I know, because I was there. Still am.