I know that the mirror has a very polite young Star-Keeper, who supplies me with all sorts of beautiful shiny balls of hydrogen that- while gives me a head ache and on my worst days makes me throw up red and green ink- are still quite beautiful. I love the way they float into your blood stream and tickle your brain into seeing The Outside. I know that somewhere out their is my son, who's jaw unhinges when he talks and misses his eyes because they were stolen. I know that The Star-Keeper's assistant hates me, and that he wants me dead. I know that Im irrelevant to The Outside, and I'd be better off if the hellish demons got me in my sleep- when I do sleep that is. The masterpiece I created was wiped off the other day, and it made me feel so useless that I just sat there and cried. I weeped until my eyes went puffy and until my mouth was dry. I know that The Star-Keeper might as well be fake, because of all the conversations we've had. They may as well be fake, because they can stand my none sense even when I haven't had enough stars. I know I miss my son, because I know he watches me just out of my reach. 

I cry a lot more than I used to, The Star-Keeper taught me that it relieves a thing called 'pent up stress' I imagine stress like a monster, a giant thing that might kill you at any second with wide jaws and eight eyes. I know that I am scared of stress.