Constricted
There are times when I am unable to write. Unable to function in my odd normalcy. Constricted in this physical muck, and revisited by familiar skies that twinge with lightning and fill with clouds of gray. I lie in the haze on cool tiled floor, trying desperately to understand the spilt blood and shattered porcelain eggs. While slowly unfolding this contorted body, the realization comes, and with it the pain of knowing that it has rained once more.
A melancholy crawl towards pastel sheets, a sanctuary where lone refuge is sleep. The sun rises in nowhere and sets to nothing. The passing of time is known only by the light of the night and the darkness of the day.