six months. six months. six months.
it sits like a hot coal in the front of my skull, conflagrating any dreams that dared to start forming in my head. that fucking phrase. two words. two edges on such a sharp knife. stuck. here. for six more months.
i can't do this anymore. the daily grind. the endless in and out of sleep. the nightmares at noon. the daydreams at dawn. the blinking at dusk wondering what happened to the last twelve hours. narcotizing myself to make the spiders stop crawling all over my brain. needing dutch courage to talk to those that love me. the minefield tiptoe that is trying to keep my mood up. the cold. the cold. the cold.
i don't know if i'm going to make it six more months. or worse. longer.