The pounding. The pounding. The pounding.

When will it stop?

My head is on fire, my mind grating, trying to keep focussed on… well… nothing! It’s like someone’s dragging a hacksaw across my skull, prolonging the torment, enjoying my self-inflicted implosion.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

It was supposed to be… magical. Wonderful. A boon to the world, where everything I wanted for us all was there… with but the simplest of thoughts. I was going to make miracles happen.

I never should have said it out loud—that I wanted to save the world—for, with every thought, every consideration, there comes an action; a brutal, literal result of my every whim. Whatever… whoever… enters my mind, no matter how trivial or insignificant, is now at the mercy of my unconscious.

I cannot NOT think something; as soon as it’s in my head the subject is affected. They’re here… then they’re gone… fragmenting, dust like, as I wish them away from my presence. I try to concentrate on something, anything, but not them… not my loved ones.

I crave sleep, but fear my dreams. I cannot trust myself.

I wish it would all just go awa… … … … … … …