A Great Asset to the Company

Another day, another fit of...something. Some raging, nagging sensation to write out a piece. The urge to stay awake, the urge to not yet go under that veil. A demanding, yet subtle sensation. The burdens of a creative mind. Sucks, doesn't it? For me, yeah. For those that actually care about my ramblings (who may or may not exist), sure. (Again. Screaming into the void.)

 That feeling, though. I can never describe it. Is it inescapable? Will it ever cease? Do I need it to? No, because that's boring. Insomnia is preferable to being basic. 

The ocean again speaks to me, but I cannot listen. I would die, whether by the apex predators that rule it, the storms that rage across it, the fatigue that would govern me if I attempted to cross it, or any other number of things. 

She speaks to me as well. I can hear her in the floorboards, under my feet. She's listening. I beg for her to come out, to meet me. To see me, to let me see her. The world taunts me, before it finally reveals that she was never there. This is a part of the test, or so I like to believe. I dream of her, and I pray I continue to.

Also, cut my foot on a trashcan. Hurt. A lot.