The sun fell through the window transforming the right side of my face into a yellow crescent moon. I could smell the gasoline, the stale cigarettes, the cracked and callused skin that touched my leg in a half sleep state of lifelessness. My red lipstick still clung to the rim of a styrofoam cup beside the bed, filled with cheap coffee and a rainbow swirl of oil a la lippie. The words had become my sickness, attacking me without mercy. My head crashing against the syllables like an angry tidal wave…I had no means of escaping them.
I had previously considered it a hobby…living in my head concocting grand stories, fantasies that kept me away from the world that shunned me. But now, I no longer slept. I no longer moved from my spot on the mattress where I wrote until my fingers dented and my brain collapsed into tears that poured out from my blood shot eyes, a melted mind. The words were torture.

I tried covering my ears with feather pillows. I tried sleeping pills. I tried music, TV, earplugs…..but the words prevailed.

The Goddamned words.

My sickness.