the TWELFTH of MARCH, TWO THOUSAND and TWENTY ONE.

sleep provides no escape from you; you turn nightmares into dreams. serenity, but at what cost?
slumber and peace, you snake your arms around me and hold me tight. a foreboding comfort; safety.
you remind me you're there, you care. but it's not you - just the plastic shell i hold of you,
remnants of first love and yearning and desperation. sickening and twisted desires,
you melted into sticky pink sludge, the kind that sticks to your fingers and never really comes off.
waking, i am plunged into a pool of ice. the dread that you're gone, truly. my worst fear.
the kind of fear that seeps into your brain and flesh and bones and strips you from the inside out.
it never ends, perpetual panic and terror. every day is a game of russian roulette - but all the chambers are full.
bang bang bang. it never stops hurting. subdued torture, i ache for sleep again.

take me back!