So … Twitterer, basically.

I haven’t come close to attempting to sleep and it’s after 0502.

I replay mixtures of confusion, misinterpretation, terror, misperception, violation, loving disappointment, fear of hardening harder, achingly precise visions of worsening loneliness, panic over once celebrated visitors and I somehow, can’t quite feel my Benadryl just quite yet.

I weigh those muddled mixtures inside my no longer tired, but now WEARY mind; all while feeling the need to listen to Christian music at an 11/10.

The need to bathe my mind and ears in harmonies crying out to God, right now at 0509; I cry for hope I was wrong, but “Sir stranger,” was not also dead because I could have been right, could have been guilt ridden, and currently my guilty burden.

I pray for strangers on Twitter without a second second. I’m autistic. Being disingenuous is difficult.

This part please read quite slowly, as I’m working hard to mean it severe, harsh, and with intention; you’ve heard that voice and you know it’s aching scream.

I, promise, I forgive you. Eventually, soon. I release you from fear of misunderstanding. I release you from month old autism in a lifetime mind of abuse and trauma.

The trauma I type of almost hourly online, the trauma I also share privately, then in a supportive environment with dear friends; it causes me to believe you are not fit in my kingdom.

I hope you stay well. I will forgive.

Buttercups, when they forget; get crushed without warning.

Queens with painfully known tragic memories, those queens die if they forget.