I'm floating. It is very dark and it's very cold.
Or it could be hot, I'm not absolutely positive about that.

I can't see. I can't hear.
I don't feel anything. I don't believe this to be hell.
I just don't.

They come to me at times.
They come in ones or twos, or in multitudes I cannot comprehend.

Sometimes they're so small they crawl into mouth and my nostrils.
Sometimes they're bigger than the sky. Such as I remember it.
The sky that is. But sometimes...

Sometimes they look just like you and me.
And that's really the worst part.
And they start cutting into my flesh.
Sometimes I dream of hallways.
Here, in the emptiness it probably is the only thing soothing me.

Sometimes I'm visited by the paper men.
I never knew you could feel your soul.
But when they took it from me I felt utterly cold and alone.
Even more so than before.

After an unknown amount of time had passed they brought it back to me.
I wept.
It was cauterized back in place.

But it wasn't the same.
They put it there inside-out.
I could feel it. Just when I thought that I'd endured it all.
That they'd run out of horrible things to do to me, they started working on my mind.