Geezeus christ. Theres no escaping. It's like iron bars so close together air can't even get through and as you suffocate you rely on paranoia for answers. Your arms are weak from starvation, your head heavy from exhaustion, but still you troop on fueled by anxiety. Eyes here, eyes there, here and there and here again. Excaping is sleeping, even in sleep theres dream. Visions caused by maximum arousal, paranoia. It's all there. Paranoia is sleep and in dream. Screaming, shouting, all into the pillow in which you dream on. Your eyes are being pulled closer together by tension, by salt like slugs. You yawn and for a moment your body seems to relax until you realize theres eyes. Once again alert you rise, your skin crawling with bumps, your hair on end sending little signals up and down along your back.
Once thought as flattery is know thought as obsession. Still, flattering, still, seclusion is nice. Give it to me. Make them all leave me or set my mind at setpoint. My head feels as if it rotates back and forth like it might be malfunctioning. Even now the computer screen turns in my vision and words grow farther away. I grow sleepier yet but frantic, hectic to find a plan. Hectic. Frantic. Hectic. Frantic. Let those words die in their meaning. Frectic, is what it is. Desperate and impulse are my new companions as I try to find a way to please them and myself, and to get it all off of me. All the spiders. Get them off!
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