Mental Health Affairs

And distressing winds. Is it the weather or is it I who is causing the storm of disorder? As the cold enters my bones, and the booze filters through my veins, the warmth of my fury slowly fades away. My passion escapes from the entrapment of my soul. I feel powerless and sore. Aching for more time to avoid the strain, yet here I am reluctantly dreading the MTA. regretting my will to move forward, and wake up at all. What would become of me without this pain, other than a sadistic survivor who is truly sane.