Breakfast At Epiphanies

Had an epiphany this morning and yet, the screeching and scratching of the voices is always at hand. The only thing I can trust this day and age is the walls talking to me. Ceremoniously, I want my consciousness to die. Alas, it lies wake and unfolds the lashes concocted. From the whips of a tormented psyche. I was alive and well this morning. The clicking of a stopwatch is the split frames of time that rip apart my wretched soul. Part ways with the thought of living the days without the switch. Up, down, left, right. Goodnight.