Outside is nice. But sometimes when I am outside and I look up at the sky, I can feel the weight of the eyes of millions of billions of the alien horrors looking down at me. It takes a lot not to scream. Screaming is making bother. Making bother is bad and leads to more drugs.
More drugs leads to nothingness.
I stare at the wall, layered with years of different coats of white paint. Paint that hides a multitude of sins and horrors and sadness. No point in making a mark, it'll all be covered up someday. So here I sit. One of the nurses is wearing a watch that ticks loudly.