Master of the Universe (bp coyle)

I don’t get it, I don’t understand at all.

All of these people, talking when they have nothing to say. Listening when there is nothing to hear.

Waiting for me to reply to questions I didn’t even know they had asked. To signals I don’t notice or recognise.

They confuse me, scare me. Make me feel different, weird. Unhappy. Unsafe.

I need to get away from them. There are so many. Watching. Judging. Laughing at me.

I need to get home. To turn the key in my front door. To get inside and to lock all the locks.

Even then, it’s not enough. I need to get to my bedroom. My sanctuary.

Then I can write. I can create my own little world where things work in a way that I can comprehend.

My own personal world where I make the rules, logical rules that make sense to me.

Where I am in control, in command.

Where I am a God deciding who deserves to live, to die, to find happiness. To get their heart broken.

I want to be away from reality, to be master of my own little universe.

I want to be safe.

Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay