Once upon a time there was a little girl. She was poor and ill-educated. She grew up and married a man she shouldn’t have married. They had children. The youngest died. The little girl was a woman of sorrow now. She sprinkled sorrow over her remaining children, bruising their backs and their brains. The oldest, a boy, bruised through. He was broken and in want of a solution, he fostered numbness. He grew up and married a woman he shouldn’t have married. They had children. They divorced. The boy was a lost man now. Everyone said so and no one looked closer when he used his daughter as a doll. The daughter adapted to the numb world. She was damaged and passed along in scripture until the darkness consumed her.
Then I took over. I’m the power within yourself to keep going in the dead of the night. I’m the reason you wake back up after taking too many pills. I’m the kick in the ass that jerks reality into full frame. I’m overbearing, hyperbolic, loud, impulsive, at times exhausting, and I’m the last line of defense you hope you have inside yourself.
I’m like the goddamned Batman, only no cape, no billions, and no butler.