8:17

insight fiftyeight
i haven't written, nor thought about doing so, in a month. i can't say i'm sorry because i'm not, time away isn't always easy but my minds been too full to fathom words on a page, or a screen. my hands shake like an alcoholic yet my alcohol is liquid nerves, worries and unslept nights. my eyes tired, stained black with attempts of beauty that try to hide the layers of sleep deprivation burrowing into my grey skin. my nails bitten within anxious episodes when at school, home or anywhere that caused internal terror in my brain. mind flickers from thought to thought, clockwork timing to circle round and round that same point, the same pin the works that stops me from achieving the full happiness i should feel for upcoming events, and past celebrations. tick tock. tick tock. the thought jitter, mixing into one pile of letter, numbers, like binary code but making no sense. blind to the plain sight of pain inflicted within, the silent torment stopping the smile that could grow. instead it forces me into my bed, backs me into the corner when i remain to stay in my mind, isolation driving me to insanity yet a comforting loneliness pleases my soul. permanent head ache feeling like a hang over from life, a constant burden of getting up, getting dressed and getting away from it all. still circling, spiralling around that point. the pin in the works that drives me to misspell, misspeak, mistake that sentence and twisting it into nothing that it meant to stab me in the back and watch the blood run from my own hands, from my own infliction. it turns me insane, it turns me down and down. and down. its like clockwork, one routine my mind completes every single passing day in which it will eventually end all thought processes  because the blood on my hand will become too much and i won't be able to forget to write again.