The vortex and the hole

Until yesterday my head was cluttered with words of all shapes and sizes. round yellow, turd-like smelly. Academic mostly. The weight of those words pained my nerves. Until yesterday, it was hard to discern the transition from day to night. Sleep eluded me and on some days cautiously avoided. Like death and disease, words gyrating in the head wouldn't let me sleep. Usually, the week before an important submission, time chases thoughts, clock races against word-limit, however the general pace of life slows down. I don't remember the last time I combed my hair, wore a fragrance or went for a long walk. seems long long ago. Time slows down yet time is always running out.

The vortex grows dense. words are actively in motion, thoughts more or less resigned to the cataclysmic deadlines. Necessitating the deployment of security squad at all corners of the room to prevent the anxiety bomb from exploding. yesterday was the last sumbission. what should have brought comfort, pierces the mind. What should have flown into the drain sticks to the sink. Sits devilishly on the hole. Distorting memories of a happy day, a soulful song, a puppy's face. How does one answer logic-defying questions, what does one do about the existence of the hole/hole in existence