Wednesday

It gets worse with each passing day, the mental turmoil, the determined disorder in my mind. The devil and the deep blue sea, both urging me towards them, coaxing me with soft lies.


The words that hurt, the thoughts that agonise the already weary heart, could never come at a worse moment.


The rainbow is gone. And with it, the mythical pot of gold.

Sleep

A human's repose. The tranquility of the night, gathered in the mind. A time for rest, recuperation, regeneration. But not for me.


The angels of the dark plague me in the absence of light, haunting me with words past. Words not to be mentioned, but were. Words to be mentioned, but weren't. Decisions, gone and buried, back to claw at my conscience.


The night is no longer peaceful.

Monday Evening

Gloomy, dark, revolting. The sickening thoughts flash through my mind. Fear slowly creeps in. And worry is not too far behind.


And it's only Monday. It's only the beginning.