In the darkness he sits. Weighing upon his life and the events that have shaped him. His mind is unsettled. Thoughts are racing at rates far beyond his comprehension. He cannot slow them down. He cannot control them.
This expressionist in him, normally in a position to share his deep inner most thoughts, left to sit in a daze. He attempts to sort through his thoughts and remove the unnecessary clutter floating in his mind. The images race between his outstretched reach like apparitions without substance. No matter how hard he grasps at them they filter through like a mist that can be felt but not captured.
The images pass the stage of his mind, mocking his very existence. They dance before his mind, taunting his helplessness. He drops deeper into his thoughts… deeper into a depressive state. He longs for reprieve. He sinks into a deep stupor, unable to focus on anything but the clutter.
His heart pounds in response. One painful drumming after another. The steady pounding intensifies, sending shockwaves across his nervous system. His soul fills with anguish. A soul once full of light and laughter, now lost to divers pathways and dark caverns.
Tension builds in his neck. The muscles contract and tighten their grip. The tension builds and intensifies, causing him to wince in pain as the pressure builds and extends its reach into his head and down his back. His mind, already swirling with thoughts, now overcome with excruciating pain.
Sleep is nigh impossible, and his thoughts continue their playful song and dance. His sleep is shallow, like a waking dream. His subconscious unable to take control, instead he envisions his physical surroundings, and is aware of the motions of the outside world. He longs for the depth of his dreams and sleep, those that once had hold upon him, to return. Instead he is left with hollow nights and exhausting mornings…