neverending nightmare

i'm. Furious. That it has come to this point.

That I am at this point and I can't seem to get out from under the point of this . . . . thing pressing down on me. I'm skewered in place, immobile and fluttering, like the oft-metaphorical butterfly in a case.

Can't move. Can't think. Can't scream. Can't do a single thing to make it at least . . . feel better.

I want so badly to finish up, be done, chuck this pointed, heavy rock off my center and breathe again, but that would require me to act. And I can't.

I'm so scared so scared so scared of what will happen if I try and fail, if I try and don't fail, if I try at all.

it's a goddamn lit essay, but I'm stuck and sick and I want to see it burn.