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September 20, 2011
The woman behind me is humming to herself. Mumbling, really, but she has her lips shut tight against the flow of the words so that she sounds like a child talking with her mouth full. She fidgets and flings out her arms in exasperation. Sometimes she laughs.

The colors pour out of her in muddy, confused tangles. They sink into my skin without effort, prickling my mind, tickling the creature that craves insanity and chaos. I have no walls against someone who doesn't know there should be walls.

I want to soothe, but her beast is stronger than mine. Feral.