Lucid

not doing well atm

There are a lot of things that make sense to you right now. Scattered and encrypted, you wouldn't be able to describe them. They hang heavily over your right-brain. You've been here before, seasonally. The weather is irrelevant - you mean to speak of the weeks with long shadows. The months of erratic emotions, the ghosts who whisper, the demon-slaying. Times like this come on suddenly, and they don't forgive.
Self-awareness is your personal insanity. You watch parades, earthquakes, glittering amusement parks with fireworks absorbing horizons, spinning galaxies and hurricane-volume static slashing holes into infinite dimensions - everything is alight. You feel the electricity splintering your skin. The devil commands you, and your eyes give it away. You're aware of the fact that everyone knows, and that everyone is in on it. You also know that none of this is real in the slightest. You have nothing to say, and you love it. You've never hated anything more in your life. 
Of course I'm not okay when the news casts grief yet to come.