Shoulders

"Another one?" they ask. They sit on my shoulder. That doesn't make any sense because I'm lying down yet I am writing and imagining myself to be in a sitting position. Its funny how they sit on my shoulder... bastards. Like they could ever have the audacity to make their way into my head. But when it all comes down to it, they are my head.

"Two in one day, someone is getting a bit eager..." Well who the hell asked you in any case? I can do whatever I want because I was granted the immortality of mind. Its encased at the moment but give it a few years. When the worms eat the rotting flesh, that's when you'll see who needs shoulders.

"He talks like he has the right to evaluate his own mental state, how haughty!" Oh and what the hell do you think you are? You sit there like you own a stake in something yet every bit of good I have ever provided you, love, affection, wealth, you had some negative comment about them at one stage or another... except the shoulders, never had a problem accepting those.

How many of you are there in any case? One for each topic in my head that could potentially have negative consequences? Too many; even one of you is too many. But who am I fooling? Would you like some more negative energy to feed on? How about a nice shoulder to sit on? I keep you because I choose to, not the other way round and don't you forget it!

"He talks to us like we exist!"
"Preposterous!"
"Yes, very foolish, we could not sit on his shoulders for he is lying down"
"Internal conflict, how ingenious"
"We're staying right here, on the shoulders, after all if he imagines himself in an upright position it must be so"
"Well only until the worms eat the rotting flesh, then we're in big trouble"
"Best make the most of it while we can"
"You're going to publish this piece of so-called writing now are you?"

You're damned right I am!