12 Hours


I find it hard to write, when that is all I want to do. There is a riot of words going on in my skull, which now feels trapped and confined and plagued by the inability to articulate how I am feeling. I feel as though my spine may snap at the neck, with the weight of  the banging, badgering ruckus that are my thoughts.

Clanging mash up of everything. Sadness makes me incoherent, and rage sharpens my tongue. Mix the two together, and you get a mouth full of blood, and nothing to do but swallow.

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