Messengers of my hallucinations, by messengers I mean dreams you know, are trained by me. I’ve trained them to carry out my scripts with lips and hands and claws and soulful eyes. And now when anyone want to meet my monsters they look inside the closet and under the bed and in those dark shadows where I always keep my cage, not because they don’t know where to find the beasts but because what lurks behind the mirror when I’m standing in front of it is too beastly for them to see. And this beast doesn’t have a beauty to tame it.
I’m a hunter not a prey. Still when the gentleman in the bus offers me a seat, I smile and politely say thank you, because I may be a beast but just like a circus lion I was trained well.