Think I'm going mad. There are voices in the house, and they disagree with me, and conclude: there's nowhere and nothing left. The rooms are empty, and so am I. There's nowhere to go; the doors are locked. I dreamt once, but I wake up now, void and blank, full of memory, but no real thought. Everyone speaks in fluent hatred, and I am no native and stutter in response.
I run, but I trip, and the ground swells, the corridors of madness rolling towards me. There is no light, the floorboards creak welcome, and I am crawling in misery.
The night is full of fear, and I hold tight to reason, as my foundations are torn and rumbled. But the winds call for more, until belief and reason are eradicated thoroughly, leaving me vengeful and mute.
I return to bedlam, sheets cold and compassionate. I'm well known here, and I settle soundlessly, the hurricane temporarily silenced. Sleep grants me absolution, and my sodden eyes finally settle.
Today was bad.
Tomorrow's another day.
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