I daren't sweep. Doom tries to usurp light when I sweep just a little. Forces OCD of the spirit. Scrubbing, scrubbing till the head throbs. The phone unanswered. The door closed.

Doom covers all. Doom suffocates those islands of hope, tiny leaves breaking through stone.

Must I step away from that which filters you? Call on you now?

I'm wrong and have hurt myself so much. Overload.