The Cry

"Artists are meant to be broken. How else would they create anything beautiful?"

I knew there was one waiting, deep in my bones, beneath the new world I'd created, resting in the deepest trenches of my heart.
I knew the moment I asked. Even before that. I anticipated, but I needed certainty. I needed to have it out.
And I had it out.

A raging blast of sound waves reverberate inside my car.
I scream
I scream
I scream
I scream

I have it out.

I'm careful not to exceed the speed limit.  I didn't take my wallet.  Or even grab shoes.  I just ran.
After laying,
laying down on the ground in a fetal position.
I decided I needed to leave. 

I'm careful not to go to places I'm unfamiliar with, because I don't have my phone to get me home. I am the only one who can get me home.

I drive until my brain is numb, and I find a dark parking lot.
I shake my head,
No
No
No
No
No.

The car stops, the engine dies, I curl up.
I have it out.
I cry.

The End

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