His touch grips the revolver in my mind and sets it off with a burst of color-- Drained to white As pain replaces the adrenaline and leaves me Wasted.
My mind is sick. There is a cancerous cell closing in on all sides until my eyes close for the day and give me time away from myself. My mind is sick, and I can't escape it.
There is a room in my mind that has no windows or doors. It has no color--walls stripped bare and blank and empty-- like a force of nature decided to strip a home of its humanity. Life has left the hallways and spaces of this place. There is no frame or shape that can explain… Continue reading Dead Space