Waking hours blur into fits of unwanted sleep.
Times not appropriate for closed eyes or dreaming minds.
And yet – no sleep comes when it is wanted.
In those wee quiet hours of the morning.
Endless cacophonies of sound – rage in the head like a torrent of horror show backgrounds.
Worries, doubts, and fears all clamber to the top of the heap, fighting for control of the brain cage.
Nothing is done, no one can help.
And minutes stretch into an eternity of hours.
Techniques fail.
Drugs fail.
The black room is Infinity.
There is nothing but the rage of thoughts.
There is nothing but the sounds of a house.
This is true purgatory.
Peace without peace.
A battle that cannot be won.
You’re unable to even fight it in the first place.
Insomniac.
