Jack and Jill went for the kill

With the axe Jack brought her

The body fell, blood spilt down

And the head came tumbling after

Up Jack got, and away he trot

As fast as he could go

Jill went too, after you

With knives to end your woe

Imagine.

Drowning.

Gasping for air.

It’s coming up over your head.

There is no escape.

Your hand reaches.

For something.

For anything.

For nothing.

No.

It’s not water.

But pain.

You rise from the floor.

Spurred on, only if for a moment.

You reach for the shovel.

You walk out to your backyard.

You dig a hole five feet deep.

You bury them.

Bury them so deep down in the godforsaken earth that no one can hear them scream.

I mean, you’ll be able to hear them.

But they are your fears, after all.

But no one else will hear them.

And that’s what matters.

You sit there with that synthetic smile stapled to your stupid face.

You bleed, of course.

Because they’re staples.

But no matter.

You also can’t blink.

No blinking.

Or the tears will fall.

And we can’t have that, now can we?