Friday, August 17th

Scream. Scream until the acid churns again and rises up and out. Drain yourself. Drain yourself of whatever this is growing and chewing its way into your head. Your head that's lost silence and hope and any semblance of satisfaction. Your head that only clears around 4:45 in the morning, when you don't need it, and won't remember it. Silence means so much to someone such as myself, and now it's all noise and churning. It's showers that run cold after hours of stinging water that could block out the noise if you could clear your head enough to think about clearing it, but all you want is her face in your mind. You want that smile back, and the glimpse of privacy. Here's that old pain again, and it's welcome.