In the Cemetary

Obsessive, compulsive, special words... to describe the way she copes. Some like me have racing thoughts, for others, it's locks and soaps. I wish that mine were more physical, and not so much in head. I'm tired of waking every morning, to that same internal dread. Most enjoy the yellow, blazing sun, but I'd rather it go away. I prefer the wind, the dark and cool. The beautiful calming grey. Busy hands and mind I seek. I yearn to multitask. To refrain my thoughts from running wild, is that not to much to ask? Worry, worry, what's your hurry? No peaceful state's been found. Dig deeper, deeper, I tell myself. In the Earth I'll lay my brain. In the cemetary of the lost and lone. In the cemetary of the insane.