My mind is starving for solace. My skin, its burning yet subzero. Tossing and spinning in a ballet of sheets and blankets, a linen noose around my soul. Hot, cold, fatiged with anxiety. I cant control my limbs... Belated remorse is a welldressed plea for peace. The acquisition is folley. I must endure my sentence chained to this plastic mattress. My journey to retribution begins with acceptance, of my mortal duty to suffer the pains of sins. So I bury dirty wet face in my sheets and let out gutteral but muffled screams that weave a tale of deceit and dependence.... But now I take the quill and ink back. Now I am writing my future comings and goings. Now the poison leaves my body. Now im awake...
