Clouds Like Batteries

The night was electric and I had been on the grid for too long. I felt wired and falling to pieces underneath it all, as if the only things keeping me up and standing was some deranged power. I thought that I knew that nothing mattered and that everything mattered completely in comparison to that; I thought that I knew paradoxes and reality and the shifting that was my eternal self. Knowledge, and the nothing-wrong! Cleaved from an apple in Spring! Left to rot, decompose, mold then moss than dirt!

I shuddered. The idea that every idea in my mind was only a dying breath, or the idea that I had always been wrong and learned nothing substantial, it shook me to my core. A small tremor that ran down all of my bones, making me feel as if I was constantly at the edge of something. I had always thought that being close to the edge meant that I would dive off the edge and fall into something great, new, grand and all. The truth hit me in my bed. I laid there wide awake looking up at my white ceiling surrounded by white walls.

I've been half asleep, pretending to exist, lying at the edge of this cliff and going no where. I was afraid of thought, of looking over the cliff and finding a ground a few inches from there, or a foot.

A desert with a white sky. I closed my eyes and will clouds to come, willed coldness, willed discomfort. My skin had goosebumps. I willed lightning, it came about in flashes. I willed a stomach ache and I groaned. It was the way it had always been.

Strung out from nothing, thinking I have it bad, not able to escape the confines of my own mind.