Shivering away to nothing.

Again and again, it's all over. There are tiny cycle of the mind, ribbons looping around and around from one season of thought to the next. Summer and fall, winter, following one another in a fast-paced game of who can catch whom. They all caught me.

Summer thoughts drive red-hot anger between the hemispheres of my brain. I jump when there's a sound, I yell and yell and yell inside my skull. I smolder. It's stifling.

And when followed by fall, summer's flames are quelled by the crisp chill. A chill made of harsh, scratchy realization that there's nowhere to go from here. A cool settles in the bones, in the brain. My life is slowly iced.

Shallow breathing winter, eyes red, lips chapped, hands shaking winter. Winter of shivers and isolation, cold and quiet and dead.

The thoughts cycle like a calendar whipping around and around a thousand times a second. You could almost mistaken them for a melded whole. But they're different, distinct. They feed off one another.

Shaking hands, shaking mind. This doesn't even make sense to me anymore.