The Basement of Delusion

I had a silly thought. What if my parents… Locked me in the basement? It doesn’t make sense, because that’s illegal! It doesn’t make sense because they are supposed to love me. What I imagined was them thinking I should just sit on a shelf for the rest of my life. Because all I do is sit in my room anyway. My life depreciating in value, while I sit silently. I wouldn’t scream, I wouldn’t panic. Because that makes them annoyed, And I already annoyed them. So my therapist, She was more reasonable. Smiling in that concerned way. Trying to explain that the door doesn’t even have a lock, Trying to explain the lack of logistics to locking me up like that. Locks, keys, and turning the lock. My parents’ turn to speak in that way that is like an intervention. Looking back and forth, trying to decipher what they are saying, or even who is speaking. Looking at their mouths, which is they key to understanding their words. It is my turn to speak. To make my case against confinement. I feel mousy, and can’t hear myself. But they can hear me through the energy and vibrations. That’s it! Times up! It’s time to go home. Which will be underground. It’s time to go home. It’s time to go to my new home.