It keeps running out. My reserves are always low. The deep wells never given time to refill, before the demands of the world drill through and empty it again.
Hellraiser pinpricks, a thousand tiny hurts, taking every resource I have, until only cyclic painful thoughts echo in an empty cavern of numbness that longs for silence, for self destruction.
Again the tiny needles come, the fracking liquid of things that demand to be done; try to get help, talk to work, understand the fit note bureaucracy that can help, or kill me. There’s nothing left. No shale gas of laughter, just toxic, emotional groundwater, it leaks from my eyes, until the well inside, is empty again.