I’m hanging my head out the window, the roof lit with the orange end of a cig. Everything is coated with the saccharine scent of vanilla and the beginning of an episode. My head is throbbing, waiting for the meds to start working, this is torture.

I slept earlier today for an hour or so, only to fall into a nightmare that you died. I was sitting over your grave trying to play a song for you on guitar, and (as it goes with nightmares) I was unable. My fingers would not move, I just screamed and sobbed and lay on the dirt and pebbles in front of your headstone. My first instinct upon waking was to stop crying and call you, and we spoke in numbed voices for barely a minute,
“I’ll call you when I’m back home”
I knew you were lying.

It’s been so long since I’ve had time off that I can’t handle the transition in and out of working. Maybe thats what brought this on, maybe it’s all the important decisions I’ve let linger. Maybe it’s that I haven’t had a thing to eat today, but I’m not hungry. I can’t breathe. Let the descent into madness begin.


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