Slump.
Sigh.
The chest ache again.
But then, it never quite ceased.
Slump.
Sprawl.
The lump in the throat.
And the hope that it doesn't spill out. This skin has had enough to drink. Salty water doesn't quite do the trick, anyhow.
Glance.
Stare.
At nothing. Still nothing new, nothing holding.
A distraction, any distraction. Please?
Curl up.
Cry.
And because this mood has muddled one thousand days already, there is no hope for anything else:
Sleep.
Please.
Erase the world. That vague dark wave will crash down. Its stillness banish this heaviness. Just for a moment. A sweet blessed moment.