Rolling on the bed without being able to really fall asleep. Nothing anywhere. Silence. The clock suddenly moved two hours later, but I feel like I went to bed twenty minutes ago. Papers. Take the paper and draw. Whatever, lines, doodles, get it out. Anything that bothers you. Unbearable weight. Madness. Figurine of a pawn. The words beast, help, childhood, fence, beast, beast, beast. Faces. Horrible faces staring. Face contours. Broken gioconda, sepia. Broken again. Pawn. Words. Words, so many words. Help. Help. Is there anyone? Madness. 

Don’t go to bed.

I fell asleep and woke up on the floor covered with a blanket. Night madness. When will it be over? Help. The beast. Is there anyone? Papers piled up on a pile. They all look the same. Random words are written on them but there’s a pattern. If anyone finds them, don’t ask me, I don’t know what you’re talking about. No soothing words will help. It is what it is.

The owl trembles on my right arm and the words tattooed beneath are writhing. Not what they seem. An unbroken wishbone tries to break itself on the left arm. Serotonin on my left forearm would normally shed tears of happiness but now is inactive. Please help me. The fish on my right shoulder fluttered in the New Year’s tide, but now it swims lazily and wishes to swim away from me. I’m not surprised. The arrow on my thigh had been stretching recently, but the string had probably broken somewhere. It doesn’t work. The jellyfish on the calf laughs only abstractly like a beast. I hear her. Somewhere inside my head. The semicolon under the jellyfish tries to erase himself. “I’m done here,” he keeps saying. And the flower on the ankle has not bloomed for a few years.

“And when you find me, just burn me,” is written in a Moleskine notebook. Just behind a few poems and sketched pictures of pawn.