Lucid

How strange it is to need to sit under a ticking clock to feel sane. It is the only constant thing I have anymore. Rhythmic ticking echos in my head and I cling to it to bring me back from the spiraling wreckage. Curled up in the fetal position, I match my breath to every other tick. My heartbeat begins to slow. Soon flashes of blood soaked bodies and lye push thier way back into my brain. I forget to breath. The chemical smell takes me back into lost memories. Chemicals used to prevent disease from the mutilated bodies. The chemicals take the edge off the smell of rot. No. No. No focus on the ticking. I open my eyes to better focus on the clock. I watch the hand move as my whole body shudders. Sweating. Time passes. My throat is sore. I must have been screaming again. Its like I can't hear myself. Like I am somewhere else in my head entirely. A tall male nurse walks in the room. He roughly grabs my arm and gives me a shot. My vision fades to black and like the flip of a switch I fall asleep.