She stares at the blank page

Then at the far wall

”We’re all mad here,” it says

Whispering

Yelling

Beckoning

I feel so small

A tiny version of myself

Balled up inside

Peering through the strangers’ eyes

Sounds echo loudly

Reverberating through my hosts’ body

I may be losing my mind

Everything is surrounding me

Pulsating

Colossal versions of themselves

I’m in the kitchen now

How did I get here?

How long has it been?

I place my hand in front of my face

It doesn’t feel like my hand

I pick up a knife and slice open the palm of my dead hand 

I don’t flinch

I don’t feel it

”Where am I,” I ask as the blood drips from my hand