The cycle began. I was afraid of my mind. I couldn't stand the conversations that took place behind my eyes.
A handful of tiny switches entered my cycle. One tiny switch before work, another before bed. Each and everyday I could feel a light turn off, turn off, turn off. I found myself locked out and in complete darkness. My longest companion, my greatest enemy now ceased to exist.
I wanted silence in a form that I could touch. This silence touched me. It robbed me of the endless scripts I had created with people I didn't even know. I was always prepared for the war that was conversation, that was interaction.
When the tiny switches took away my mind, they created a new fear. A fear I couldn't obsess over like I usually would.
The fear was "Not only have you been evicted from your own thoughts, but there are no thoughts to even be evicted from."

How sick is it to want my mind back? This is an ode to my mind. Come back, will you? You sick thing, come back to me.