The Medusa

Symptoms of my dreaming brain. If I'd continued with my therapist, she'd have told me to write it all down. Sometimes I can't find the words to write it all down. Sometimes the crushing weight of my dreams is more than I can bare.

The Medusa coiled in alabaster green, her head engulfed in flames. Satan's snakes slithering from between her legs, lapping at her dripping crotch. Her breasts heavy with milky blood for the begotten bastards.

When she gazed at me, my mind shattered in hebephrenic tremors beneath a cold black rain. Seizing my hand was a little girl.