There are times when losing control is the best option to maintain all sanity. Living a tightly-wound regimented life does that to a person. You can live by one defense mechanism to another, trying to fill ever-opening holes, sewing in patches of sanity, only to realize you were empty from the inside all along. You flail your hands, grabbing at every crevice of earth when the quickest way out of quicksand was by standing completely still.
During these moments, you lose all hope. Faith, will, drive — they all vanish into thin air slowly then all at once. You realize you’ve become a shell, a hollowed mold, walking amongst the still-breathing. You think, “It doesn’t take much for a person to die. Not even death can stop you from the inevitable”. Death. It’s as if your mind intentionally set a dingy, tattered stage especially for Death and its orchaestra. It thrives amidst the grave, whispering you to follow its will. The systematic beat of drums play simultaneously with its whispers until these become as loud as thunder and lighting, as you clench you fists and close your eyes, as you cover your ears in an attempt to hide the insanity you hear from within.
But you can never hide from it, can you?