Absolute impending feeling of terror, terror of inevitable loneliness and ennui, despair at the promised unsatisfying spentness when I awake, the unsatisfying dreams where I wander and run but never reach, where my wishes appear in front of my in cruel crude distortions, mocking my desire.
I sleep by myself more alone than I could ever be. I will awake with the pain of my reality and the raw hurt of failed dreams. My nightly trepidation. Oh I wish I was exhausted and would collaspe instead. I wish my dreams would not taunt me. I wish I could tip out my mind and pick and choose what to refill it with, but it is filled with my terrors which infect any new memories I try to create.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. I need to calm down.