The nightime is dreadful.
Shadows grow on my soul like buggymen under the bed. Irrational fear settles in. Panic.
Wait, this can't be true, I know it's my imagination. But at night, my imagination is a beast that runs loose, impossible to control. And it throws me against the floor. Squashes me. Crushes me. And then drags me through the valley of dementia.
Time is swallowed by a giant squid that travels to the darkest deeps of the oceans. The pressure is too great for the seconds to go away. So they drag and i'm stuck in a horrible place, pinned down to the bed, paralysed. When will the sun rise?
Have I been drugged? Trapped in the web of the poisonous spider of depression. Here she is. Fuck, she bit me. And now I can feel the venom using the highway of my veins to spread. Turning me into a monster I hate.
I don't want to die alone. But I'm tired of everyone.
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