Bedlam

Clamor.
Turmoil.


The ability to keep a hold on my brain and thoughts during
certain times of the day is like trying to hold on to water
it wobbles around falls through my hands as I try to retain them.

Anger.
Resentment.
Hurt.
Pain.

As everything starts to look alright for once
I am targeted for attack, the inclination of air
becomes absurd being that the reach for oxygen
is one unstable and ill-mannered. It is out of my clutches
in such a way that is disgusting as I gasp for breath
void is inherited in return but I settle in again longing
for the sunny side knowing that it has to be out there somewhere.
Daybreak will prevail it is my only hope.