Some days, a certainty of paranoia appears. Like a cold ghost from nowhere. It is a conspiracy of soulless, joyless fools, hell-bent on sucking the joy out of life. Wearing favourite socks is not armour enough from their clammy hands. Irrespective of the amount of struggle all that is left is the vague feeling of helplessness and hopelessness.
Like a fly bouncing ineffectively against the glass windowpane growing ever more tired, while life slowly evaporates.
