4 am,
My clocks second hand is stuck at 8
I'm at the edge
Insomnia splitting my skull apart like a cleaver.
I pull a box full of my worst night terrors down from the top shelf.
I open it up.
I have something to scream into the void.
I cant find a void at such short notice,
So I write it into my black book.
My heart shifts between a burning aching hatred,
And empty cold.
I pick up a lighter,
I'm so tired
****** streaks, across my mind
Maybe it's the sickness
I stop myself
I'm scared of myself
Intrusive thoughts from the darkest corners of my mind are hardest to stop slipping to actions,
This late at night.
flames reflect off sharp metal
A ritual with a crossover episode,
A depressive episode
A manic episode
Both lead me here
On bad nights.