pulpy head

i wanna lie down and just crash on the bed with nothing but the covers over me and the fan blowing like winter's call, to lay to rest the demons in my head who day by day gain in weight like marmalade. then i got jumped by the cockroach taunting me hence i lay in wait not in bed but like a bait, waiting for the cockroach to crawl out from behind the cupboard so that i can smash it to a pulp and jeer at what the thing formerly known as a head.

unbelievably tired. of more than work.
where are we going, all decked in black and white?