God will this fucking week be over? Its crawling in my head, poisioning my thoughts. I can't think of anything else. I am in that deep fog (not the fun one either) that takes away your mind, takes away your thoughts, your breath, and smothers you in darkness as you stand in the day light. "I close my eyes and fly out of my mind into the fire. My world is burning down."

I do not stand here in front of you. I am miles away, in a dimlly lit coorridor staring out a window over the city at night as it rains and rains and rains. The light glistens and sparkles off of every street light and car head lights. It is so silent there. It is pretty. The beauty in darkness found. I walk though the halls. No one sees me. I sit outside the room in a chair for hours. I have a thick hard covered book in my lap. Thousands of thin pages that ruffle gentle when I turn them. The smell, indescribable but undeniably recognizable for the rest of my life. It's late, so late at night. My eye are burning. But I don't sleep. I am restless. Back to my nightly city view. I sit on the wide window ledge and pull my knees up to my chin and wrap my arms around my legs. The glass is cold and smooth and comforting. It at least seems real. Tangible. I still haven't seen anyone. I may have passed people, but they are outside of my view, I cannot see them. I do not care. When a car passes stories below I can hear its muted rumbling and splashing through the window. The only sound.

If you go there. You will find me, I haven't moved.


-kln-

"The wreckage of my past keeps haunting me."