Excerpt from 24th February 2014

There was a point in time where I wavered through a metaphor all too familiar. Lying down in an open field, an array of green grass, blues skies. Th sun so warming and comforting, birds chirping. A scenery you'd only imagine in a mind sane enough. But that's what I couldn't see, it was a point where I could describe such a haven fervently. Right now? I couldn't describe it t even save myself. My mind aims straight for what its definition of insanity is - blue skies smiling at me, nothing but blue skies do I see. That feels like a century ago. For now when I lie down surrounded by th smell of freshly cut grass, facing up t th blue sky, all I see is a hand surging through what is depicted as a beautiful painting of th sky, destroying such a masterpiece. A hand attracting dark stormy clouds like a magnet. A hand reaching down t me, grabbing my sanity away and attaching shackles t my limbs. I feel so helpless, but nobody can hear me, th force has silenced my cries, silence everything else that all I hear are th chains around me and th thoughts in my mind. There was a point when th blue skies smile at me, not anymore no, nothing smiles at me no more. Nothing but one thing.