Falling

I laid upon my wooden floor, dented and separated with age and oddly comfortable until you paid too much attention to the unwavering solidity of it, and stared up blankly at my chipped ceiling. 

I couldn’t tell if I was in a state of deep contemplation about my life or in a near vegitative state but there was a sort of comfort in feeling the cold, hard panels beneath me. I knew as long as I laid here, I could not fall further than I already had. I felt myself at rock bottom in every sense of the word.

Oh how naive I was to think that that would be enough to stop them, to think that a few planks of mismatched wood would be enough to keep the monsters of my mind at bay. 

Before I even had time to finish the thought, the world unhinged its jaws once more and swallowed me whole. I fell, I am falling and will continue to fall until it becomes my new stationary. I am doomed to sink further and further into the black of my consciousness, hoping yet dreading that the landing will take me on impact.