Black Kitchen Towel Holder
It's five o'clock and wake up at night. Or I guess I wake up and it's five. I really do not know, and I do not mind temporary correction. As if he had escaped from a nightmare, wake up choking back a scream, eyes wide open in the blackest darkness. I go to the bathroom and look in the mirror. The smell of my sweat clings to my eyes. My eyes closed eyelids of lead. I wash my face and I see more clearly some words yesterday. I do not lie, last night went in all directions eyes. And it hurts. It hurts. Everything around me becomes punctures on the head. Wince. O poker face? Do not know, I do not remember. Maybe not ever happened or will happen tomorrow. The pain is unbearable, so I'm looking for something to cling. Meeting on the rack support viable. But fall, and fall, and fall. I fall forever. And now I'm sitting toilet bowl with a hand holding so tight the rack. My head hangs from the neck like a dead rabbit hanging from the belt of a hunter. Drooling the floor while torturing thousands of words my eyes, sometimes sentences, others are simple words of dubious content, sometimes it's my voice that kills me, others are friends or relatives, other voices that have never seen; " I do morning, Mom, "" . . at 6 we okay? "," fear "," mandarin. ". You can not beat Alex to leave, get up and fight. My eyes stop raving and set a point in the darkness, I guess my look expresses determination. I wipe the drool hint of I'm a fucking drunk or a sucking child? and I'm dry mouth. Nor have I stained the floor. I feel much more lethal. I get up and walk down the hallway to the black kitchen towel holder for a bottle of water. The way in its short length makes marathon. If you only need a drink of water and all is well . . I go into the pantry and grab the bottle with his head to explode, bang pots and jars of spices break, drink heartily, and drink more than my neck drops, drink greedily and I need to change my pants and shirt. When you turn around to leave, I understand that I made the biggest mistake in years. Is the kitchen, and now smells add to the words (and pictures, of course) in the siege of my damn eyes. Slaughter eye. Hundreds of knives slicing my head into thin slices. Once in my room, I feel thirsty, very thirsty again and look for the bottle of water. I swear have brought the kitchen, but less time if I lose to the black kitchen towel holder to the other. I go into the pantry, grab it, give the first drink there, and literally bathe my clothes. When you turn around to leave, I understand that I made the biggest mistake in years. Slaughter eye. Something is eating my brain from the inside. I do not remember where the bottles and my clothes are dry. Which bottle is this?, I have an appointment to go to the library?, I was going to be late. I take off my pajamas and I was surprised to see how wet it is, seems to be sweating a lot, but the truth is I have a high fever - I think. I will warn you that I'm not going to the library, I have seen. . . .