Tired by IvOrY So tired, but still compelled to keep writing... creating, like some demented puppeteer has tied strings to my fingers, propped open my eyelids with toothpicks, and set me before the screen. Nudgeing me into action, forceing my emotions to come out through my hands until I have seen them all, laid them out before me, and digested them, bit by bit. Giving me no breaks. There is no quiet time. Just discordant circus music in the whirr of the machine echoing in my migraine head. Dragging me out of denial into self-knowledge, pushing me from my comfortable dark cell into bold light and polished mirrors where every pain, every flaw, every feeling it illuminated and repeated. I want it to go away. I want my fingers back. I need them, to squash my emotions back into the pit of my stomach where they sit daily in a familiar knot... That I am not not ready to untie