The Books that Never made it

Insane

I'm slowly going insane, spiraling downwardly in black cruel fire of desolation.

Falling asleep feels normal, but waking up seems like a distant dream. Alone in this house, my only comfort and friendship is the sound of the clock's thundering ticks that keeps the silence from devouring me whole.

         In a sea of confusion, I am aboard my boat of calamity, riding the waves of delusion and fragility, I coast along the islands of security, but I don't care surf too close, for my mortal soul is in danger. I feel the gritty hands of insanity, grip my mind, enslaving it with alienation and solitude until I am no more.