Can't

Can't sleep. Can't eat. Can't go for a walk (fuck you too, moon). Can't focus on a page long enough to make two words make sense. Can't practice, if I do 'Stallion Tramples the Face' stance one more time I'm gonna break my own legs.

Can't block out Skye when she got grabbed, feet kicking ruts through the snow and down to dirt, like a kid making a snow angel. Can't stop hearing the way her scream got ripped away, filled in with eating sounds preceding every jet of blood. Can't tell my mom, or anyone. People would think it was werewolves, and I can't let them think that.

Fuck.