At some point during my infancy, I was told that one can’t be bored ‘cause we have imagination and we should use it and be creative in order to achieve fun. So I started playing with myself. And the day has come where I became afraid from my own child games. I don’t want to play anymore. But she, my mind, didn’t like it and in my sleep she feeds and scares me with horrible nightmares. So I play with her a little everyday, thinking in despair, embraced by loneliness. I just want to blow her away. Secretly, I think of a way to destroy it. I’m on guard against my own feelings as if some part of myself has become a stranger to be watched and kept unconscious through anesthesia because it shouldn’t be heard or seen.