sail (title subject to change)

nulla

i have nothing left but vitriolic memories of subjects i'd rather forget. i remember when i tried to count the days, but had found it impossible without a window to shed light upon my pale upturned face. i remember starting with so much vigor and fight inside of me. to think it had fallen to just this. i stared at the ceiling, every tick of the invisible clock in my mind sending tremors of anxiety through my bloodstream to poison and infect my brain. i hated these moments, when he left me with nothing but this pen and journal and my twisted thoughts. sometimes i don't even think anymore. it seems like everything is grey and colourless and my life has come to a stop. then again, what life? is it really living if i am simply a dead man in a working body? i sighed. is it even worth the fight anymore?