One of the most overwhelming things is happiness. A smile seems untenable, manic, like it could so easily stretch into a scream. Happiness is torture, ecstatic suffocation. Revision is somewhat difficult. The fear begs you to ask even if you grasped something as fully as possible, 'what now?'. You fear the pressure you would have to be pleased at success. Achievements are twisted to ring hollow and sonorous. You are guided through familiar thought patterns in a mind demarcated by electric wire which causes pain to transgress. So you sit, and time swirls around and beyond you.
But you weather the nausea of anxiety and walk into the buzzing strip-lit room with whatever could be retained in two hours' desperate revision. Revision, like packing an old suit case, with ideas falling by the wayside as you try to recall them. And two hourse elapses. Somehow something is scrawled on the page. A little suprised, you are channeled out between the rows of desks. There were times when to think of this moment was to tempt fate, maybe it always will be.
Granted a reprieve, you sit lulled and in love with the moment, the night. The fear is an unpredictable master. Thoughts flash like the moment crystalline slides are coloured with dye. Sometimes you remember these cease to fire and the only thing able to cleave the dulness is looking blankly at the poppy coloured spores, billowing like smoke under the cool water of your sink.
Just before the surrender of sleep under unclenched brow, perfect comfort and enclosure. You slip into unconsciousness, as unseeing eyes dart back and forth under heavy lids.