hacked and hatched

The hatchet yelled at me. I knew he was walking around my bed, sizing up my throat but I didn’t want to pay him any mind. He yelled that I’d pay it anyway. I’d have to pay him every part of me. All the parts he felt like and then tomorrow, when I wake more dead than alive, I would bury him with my own body, happy to allow him to yell and jab and slit and kill me for the rest of time. I can still hear him yelling but i left my eyes closed because he hated that the most. I refused to pay any mind at all. Cause my mind was mine, dead and alive, so had he demanded that I pay it, I’m afraid I’d already be at customer service looking for a refund. I’m afraid life’s policy doesn’t require a receipt.