I lay awake at the Witching Hour
Tongue: restless with nothing to say
An unquenchable, insatiable flame riding along articulated speech
Mind: suffocated in the depths of Rush Hour; thoughts gushing 50 miles per hour
No destination;
One goal: to push my blood like a reversed waterfall; to plug the geyser of cells in one place
Allow the pressure to build, and build, and build, and build
For oxygen to be trampled in my lungs, never reaching my throat
I lay awake hearing my thoughts run through the walls;
A train I will never make
I rail I can never walk
A capacity I have exceeded
A quake vibrating through my hands, the cause for the errors on the page
Google sits awake with me
Proding my eyes open when they slip into the night
It tells me a story about Psychosis:
Another brain pimple
For someone with two of them already
The size of mountains:
Permanently etched into my brain
Like memories of almost being run over
By a giant red car at the age of 8;
Blistering red like the volcanoes on my brain
Another zit that controls my emotions and thoughts, another scar when I cut it in two
Another disconnection from external reality
I lay awake during the Witching Hour;
A time when nightmares are ripe to pick
Thoughts endlessly running in the walls
Panic injects itself in my veins
And depression cuddles me at night
Growing in brain is psychosis
And stamped on my eyes is desparation
For peace
For help
For love
For happiness
I lay awake during the Witching Hour
Prayers sewn on my lips
Depression, anxiety, and psychosis
Knitted in my blood;
Persistent trains run in the walls
Of my room
And in the walls of me
While 2 am slips quietly away into the night
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