If I am to drown, let it be in work, for work shall harvest my efforts, whereas life may not.
The rock is rendered useless, and there is nowhere left to turn. Sink like the rock that sunk you, tied, to the bottom of oblivion.
Time has passed since I last wrote.
My mind is slowly wandering to the darker part, and I feel my sanity wither away as I gasp for a breath of fresh air.
Yet fresh air itself is not welcome at a time when you are surrounded by such an oblivion; you begin to become accustomed to this oblivion.
You wait, and hope.
Hope left long ago when there was no room left for it. You needed to focus on keeping your sanity intact.
Or at the very least what was left of it.
Waiting, waiting. Dissociating.
Every ticking of the clock becomes louder, and louder, deafening; you can’t hear anymore. Your senses are as dulled as your will to live. Where do you turn to? Your rock.
But can they help? That is soon to be discovered.
They once said they could not fix all, only guide you in times of darkness.
This is a time of darkness. Lead me out. Guide me to reverie.