Paranoia

In July, the sun mocks me—burning bright, yet I shiver in corners, wrapped in fright. The air is warm, the world is gold, but something ancient, cold, takes hold. A voice from the mirror whispers my name, the walls are breathing, they play a game. Shadows crawl like thoughts I hide, my mother’s eyes in the ceiling slide. I light a candle—no warmth, no glow, just flickers of memories I’d rather not know. Did I lock the door, or was that a dream? The teacup laughed. The faucet screamed. A child cries in my spine each night, clutching Oedipus too tight. Paranoia, hallucination, the soul's disguise— I freeze beneath a summer sky, and truth, like ice, lives behind the eyes.