Dark hours spent, chair drawn up in front of his desk,
Head bowed, face obscured from general view,
Red rimmed eyes set deep into his skull.
The pupils dancing from side to side, never ceasing,
"run, run, find. the exit. the escape"
Hand madly scrabbling along the paper, pen held tight,
Black shapes and shadows, long haunting demons,
Fearsome shades of his own devices,
The ink running with his blotched tears,
"get.away. keep away from me"
Jaw set in a bitter inner struggle,
Nails biting into the scratched and torn wood,
Ears ringing with the mocking laughter,
The dreams in which hes dieing are the best hes ever had,
"i am not mad, i. am. NOT. mad."