My head is falling off my shoulders again and I think my neck just hit my spine with the force of a hurricane wind If thunder had a conscious mind it would strike more often and we’d all be better off deader than heck.
4 am, My clocks second hand is stuck at 8 I'm at the edge Insomnia splitting my head apart like a cleaver to the skull. 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 the black book. My heart shifts between a burning ache, And empty cold. I pick up a lighter, I'm so tired A box inside a box holds the means of my occasional downfall, ****** 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. The flames reflect off the sharp metal A ritual with a crossover episode, A depressive episode A manic episode Both lead me here On bad nights.