Oh Harriett. How lucky you are. You, all plush and cushion, and faux red locks. Is it easy to be a doll Harriett? You see, I am a human being and I just get so wrapped around the tree of the hanged man....woman....human. I feel this terror and it paralyzes my body and renders it useless. I curl up like a deflated something made in China and I can't come out of my burrow. There is so much fear in me that sometimes i do not feel like I occupy this body anymore. Did I ever? Harriett? Am I restricted to this burden of a body, confined to trembling blood and tarnished skin? Disconnected... disassociated. You don't ever feel that way. Yo are a doll. You are my best friend. You will always be Harriett and you will never leave me. People disappear and their ghosts corrode my sun with specks of memories I care very much to be immune to. I get so angry at the discomfort. This body. This shroud. There are times that I just want to be as a snake and shed. I want to be new. I feel the World taint me the minute I leave the house. Harriett? Oh, I wish you could talk. I know you can hear me, but I need to hear your voice like a lost animal in the dessert needs water. To be human is to be vulnerable and susceptible to many impurities and circumstances. To be human is often to be helpless. We are all helpless with that great gift of mortality we have been given...the sorrow of your body turning to dust before you as the life still pulses, faintly, but just enough for you to see another day go by. I don't want to wait to die Harriett. Oh, I get so scared sometimes. I get so angry. Why? I question why. Why bother? Life is much hurt and defilement and confusion and torment at times....the tornado assaults me sometimes, it spins and whirls until I can't see....the light....the life....feel the pulse of blood pound at my temples. Do you ever feel invisible Harriett? I try to be the best friend I can be. You are the most reliable. You are always here waiting for me to return. You never leave. Human beings leave and my heart feels as if it were being crushed in a vice. The vacancy, the empty, the without. Contact, Why, it seems they always leave me. Am i garbage Harriett? Am I really that disposable. I suppose I don't act right or I smell funny or...I just become a non-entity. A lost and betrayed memory. I don't understand Harriett. You are the only one. The only one that has remained. Loyal. A constant fixture among an overwhelming hurricane. Gee. I need and I don't want to need. The hollows threaten me; they place their horror-bodies on my bed and I am terrified to sleep. terrified to go to bed. How can I not be? And the insomnia. The fighting to stay awake. The push and pull like some medieval terror device ringing pain throughout my exhausted, but jerky body. Harriett? Harriett? Did you fall asleep? I wish you could tell me what all this means. I feel I may go rather mad keeping it all to myself like a toxic volcano.I never know when my head will explode. I must be strange for thinking such things right Harriett? , Sometimes i want to scream at you for remaining silent. I am jealous of your simplicity. You must hear me though, you must. There is something unique about you Harrietta. I sense your eyes shift when I shift and you eminate a silent wisdom that both placates and infuriates me. I wish we could switch places a couple times a week. I am ready for my retirement fund and I am only 15. am I going to cease the monsters until I doe. Okay, Harriett, I won't say such hideous things for remainder of the day. Oh, but it is so tiresome when the giant ill switch is broken and I can't turn it off. Harriett, can you teach me the art of utter silence. You are like Zen. Something isn't quite right. Everybody knows. I feel their eyes grow scared when i begin to talk the way I do in front of you. I cannot reveal myself to these people. I am so lonely amongst my peers. Don't they feel it too? Harriett? Silence.
endurance cannot succeed the human condition. They ceased to perceive her perceptions- ghastly real only to her. We are all given the gift of reality and it sometimes causes us to lose credibility if it not match what he or she and ten thousand others claim it to be. What they see. What they cannot see. Flesh can touch flesh and yet be one million miles away, pressing into the cement of some remote pillar that upholds a watercolor bridge. It can be anything that you or she or he will never witness, but alone and without witness. Slowly the pillar weakens due to some mistake; a mistake only a human can make. And the bridge falls away before she could hold fast to their hands as they reached out with no choice but to give in due to their limitations-the gape was too wide. When all hope bleeds out the body and forms a thick puddle of sludge on her pretty and expensive shoes, will she have the strength to clean up the loss? Certainly with no blood one cannot survive. Not a human was built to survive the absence of its nectar. The pump of the heart and the pulse of the veins is essential to sustain such a breed. The Human. And human she was. That is until the clamps were placed over her mouth, but gently, gently tightening the screws. She will learn pain the gentle way, the cruelest way, and have no voice to capture her monsters-to expel and relieve the grime that corrodes her nature. They stay in. They stay in and sneak dialogue, the nature converses with the iniquity; the dialogue becomes a desperate peal, agonizing for mother, for father, for sister, brother, but the sounds she makes terrifies them, and they in their helplessness cannot perceive anything familiar, cannot recognize the foreign creature she has been forced into by God knows what indignity. They have to put the monster in its cage so as to avoid harm. Harm to herself or others. But, no, no, no, no, she does not want to commit violence: why then does she commit such violence. The confusion and the buried human suffocate in a self that is no longer a self. The self has become the monster by some freak of brain chemistry all wrongly routed into a wretched display of imbalance, discordance and ill-fortune, bad genetics, hell-hounds. She becomes a hostage before their very eyes: a stranger, a beast. But if only she could learn to beat the dialogue of iniquity that sullies the good, the natural, the her; she must be able to in order to survive. She has learned inside the cages, 
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