Second dose, day 3.

It’s strange how quiet this space between my skull has become.

Voices like unrequited wisps, angry and envious at everything they touch. Claws made of blood stained and rusted metal, creaking away as it scraps against your skin, inch by inch. Cathedral bells that pound through the left side of your head in cut time.

They’ve all dissipated.

Even if you feel like they’re still there, you’ve grown nerveless and apathetic, sleepless nonetheless, but the silence becomes so deafening, you wonder how long that will last.

Trying to force a smile is like pulling on a piercing until it bleeds. It’s not supposed to move that way.

Understanding that almost nothing matters compared to the feeling of rage and fury. Instead, all that’s left is a light slate in a frozen desert, and almost nothing left that hasn’t been covered in a black ice blanket.

It’s been quiet.