This stressful land has come back into my travels. The radiator chatters for new coolant as I pass through the murky mire. It's hot to the point of boils blistering on my skin, it freezes me to shivering heap, wounded and fetal. An intense mental tangle of situations, morals, relationships, people, and circumstance all make up what is left of my tried cranial space. I scrape at my scalp to no avail, as the twisted tapeworms of relation eat away at the soft gummy brain tissue. The amount I could still take is uncertain, though I feel as if I cannot contain anymore frustrated bursts. It's just... too much to hold. My scraped knuckles hurt. I keep calling Your name and I keep reaching out, but my application hasn't ceased. I sick of the gloom, but it's what I've come to know. Enveloping my character and reasoning, I slowly slip in the dense and dull haze. I cannot see clearly. Everything and anything horrifying and terrible that could be held in my fate seep as if un-permeated smoke through my orifices and rot at the worm eaten mental stability that survived. It gets dark early and light late. With all this confusion, nothing can settles or even wishes to, having no prospect of letting me rest. As the fog creeps back, I am reminded of the dank past, and ominous future. Cry for me ravens. Weep for me a joined, deep cackle of sorrow.
