Standing on the brink of insanity. Walking the fine line between the padded room and the penthouse. The path is wrought with pitfalls and hazards. Safety is but a light at the end of a long and twisted tunnel.
Silent screams fill the mind chasing thoughts of hope away. Where is the freedom that was promised? Why is the house filled conflict and despair?
The air is silent. No answers are forthcoming, neither real nor imagined. Fingernails dig into the scars of madness left behind by a thousand demons on a thousand sleepless nights. Blankets and pillows have been twisted and torn beyond recognition.
Darkness with its chilly embrace has come to claim its prize. Medication has been forsaken and the clowns of despair laugh maniacally chasing bits of protoplasm across the ceiling.
In the corner the shredded remains of a straight jacket have been fashioned into a noose, a homemade doorway to the great beyond.
Creaking with the weight of its load the showerhead bends and turns casting shadows of the once alive upon the walls in the early morning light.
An echo of the passing soul can still be heard through out the dark corners of the galaxy:
Why?
Why?
Why?
Why?
4 weeks ago
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