Lately, the clock has become my best friend, as it helps me count down each waking moment until some truth finally is revealed.
Everything going on has been acting on me like some sort of disease; feeding on my mind,
making me unable to concentrate on anything other than him,
her,
her with him...it makes me sick.
Just the thought of having to be in a room with him makes me cringe, as if someone has jabbed a knife into my back,
and twisted, until I remain nothing more than a gory disaster laying face first on the floor of this hell hole Im forced to call home.