hey guys just thinking again and writing a bit thought Id share.
Whirling clouds like a tornado in my head. Thoughts assail me mindless strikes, senseless thoughts against which there are no defenses strike with power like lightening in Jolting, fear, terror, why? To bleed seems better than to face this storm, at least then in the end there is a victor a wound that will heal in time. But this, This Bastard! How I hate the struggle! Inside my mind the battle rages overpowering, crushing. There is no surrender. So many thoughts, visions, and memories, crash in with siege machines on my consciousness. The ancient trebuchet hurls the pain of the past in giant stone missiles at my sanity. Yet outside, the appearance must be maintained. No pain here, no emotion screaming in my head for release...no I am fine. This is the war on a second front! Mask it, hide it, and never allow the horror to be seen. It is far too awful a vision. Then at the end, after a battle hard fought there is nothing to show for it. There are no war wounds, no medals, no trophies, and no glory. There is just exhaustion…but oh! The prospect of rest! There is hope that the battle might not need to be enjoined again in any near time. Perhaps that is reward enough, for it is the Hope that perhaps the sirens will not sound for a day or so and the ceasefire will remain unbroken, if even just for a time, and perhaps the quiet that I fear so much in the outside, might take root in my mind. The Idea seems… beyond my scope.
Towards thee I roll, thou all-destroying but unconquering whale; to the last I grapple with thee; from hell's heart I stab at thee; for hate's sake I spit my last breath at thee. let me then tow to pieces, while still chasing thee, thou damned whale! Thus, I give up the spear!"