• tab I swear my room is filled with thoughts like smoke. I come to sleep but the low ceiling only assists in choking me with worries, congealed within. The light no longer saves from boogie men but instead from fears found in the real world; all the harder to escape. I turn out the light and it descends, defences gone. A box; my room resembles such (and as such, do I resemble the rodent?). Tickling the throat of the mind, causing a cough that cannot by fingertips be reached. Hacking up phlegm consisting of past, thought to be long gone from my system. My foot shakes with restlessness as the smoke becomes fog and drenches me with perspiration. All I want is sleep, to rest and escape, but this is where my worries come to wait.


    where do yours find you?