a world where blueskies vanish, leaving only a suffocating mist, the Earth is shrouded in a thick fog rising eerily from the ground. Early morning darkness creeps in,. Hair-raising alerts warn of zombie-like figures roaming the land their presence triggering a dread that grips your very Soul!
Psychosis seeps in2 your mind, twisting reality like a malevolent puppeteer. You find yourself caught in a nightmarish dance of death Jekyll and Hyde type madness stirs within you, magnetic forces pulling you deeper into a web of terror. Every breath feels squeezed out of you, your lips turning a haunting shade of blue
Green tendrils of malevolence slither through your veins, infusing every fiber of your being with sinuous venom The world around you twists and warps, morphing into a nightmarish landscape where snakes writhe and demons lurk in the shadows.
Demonic whispers coil around your mind, Their laughter echoes like a cacophony of madness. They hiss and rasp, their words a venomous sting. “You are weak,” “a broken shell. “We are your masters now, your thoughts our prey.”
Visions of horror haunt your every waking moment, plunging you into a maelstrom of fear and despair. Goosebumps rise on your skin, cold sweats drenching your trembling form as you struggle to find peace in a world devoid of rest. Insomnia becomes your constant companion, stealing away any chance of solace as you drift further into a realm of twisted dreams.
No sunny days break through the darkness, no rain washes away the stain of fear clinging to your soul. The mirror reflects a shattered image, a distorted reflection of reality warped by madness. Blood runs cold as the razor twists in your grip, a symbol of the hunted and the hunter locked in a macabre dance of death.
In the dead of night, reality blurs with fiction, erasing the lines between nightmare and truth. The burden of this twisted existence weighs heavy on your shoulders, dragging you deeper into the abyss with each passing moment.
The odds are stacked against you, a chilling reminder that in this world of shadows, waiting is not an option.
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Psych induced insomnia
The thought passes realms, crossing paths into this morning's dimension. It fades, pulling itself back as it leaves something behind—pieces, blurry and unclear visions, like staring into shattered glass. Was it only a dream? Prophecies like those of Nostradamus perhaps. Gather these thoughts and grasp the scenes, staring up at the ceiling, cold and drenched, shivering with no covers. Puzzled, deep in thought, I handle my cigarette, watching ghosts rise from the smoke.
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