Must....sleep...I haven't slept in three days. I lay awake and stare at the fuzzy crimson cloud of my clock, the numbers clicking, blurring into one another. When I do snatch glimpses of rest, my dreams are chaotic, scrambled, edged in a gray fog like a concrete tunnel. My eyes attempt to drift closed, but my mind....races...jumps...trips like a journey across a quicksilver stream. Memories overlap, entwine, dance on the membranes of my lids, twirling into the mad laughter of a drug-induced haze. I giggle at the voices that whisper in my ears, telling secrets. Delirium is my new mistress, for nothing is real in insanity.