Fear is an illusion

I knew it wasn't real

the way I knew everything wasn’t,  unicorns, Santa, the tooth fairy,  but this felt real,  the type of hallucination,  where everything is real apart from the thing you see.  even now, I can’t quite explain it,  the way I saw myself in the painting,  the way I lifted my cheekbones to fit hers,  my torso to fit her own, my shadow looming like a friend in the dusk.  and then I chanced a look past the torso,  and there it was. an open abdomen,  intestines caught tangled, falling to gravity’s will,  her face held onto a certain indifference,  but mine was horror.  I pinched myself over and over,  because fear is an illusion,  this isn’t real,  but if this isn’t real,  why do I feel the blood as it drips down my legs,  why do I feel the stinging cut just above my navel,  why do I feel the pain?