Just spent the last 10 minutes screaming into my pillow, if that’s any indication of how
the last two months this whole year has been going.
I hate whining but there’s no one to talk to.
Amid the whispers clawing at my mind,
the infestation drags me down.
And deeper I must go.
Down, down, go down, go.
I am not well.
Can’t let go
Blur my view
I can still hear you whisper to me
Everytime I close my eyes
You’re staring back at me
I returned for my heart
only to find
the ghosts were still there
Buster Keaton on the boat returning from France, 1934