Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Dreary, dreamy.

I have no idea what to write.  Adrenaline pulses through my veins as I try to pacify it with over-processed cranberry-grape juice.

Sometimes I just look around the room in a dreary half state, making up stories about people in my mind.  Nothing interesting so far.  Then again, I'm really not even in a half state.

I am less.

I don't even want to be here, in every sense of the phrase.  Do you ever have violet fights in the very core of your being and know that the only thing you can do is let it fight until something wins...or loses?  Your two consciences are at war.  No peace talks or treaties will occur.  They just fight and you give up and let the battles rage.

"Do not go gentle into that good night."

Dylan Thomas is God.