Just a poem...maybe a good poem if I'm lucky. 
.............
There's the saying that the world stops turning,
When something amazing happens.
But my sky has already fallen,
Crashing in jagged shards at my feet.
Bits of dusty blue reflect
All that was once my past.
No one is to say if the sky can be repaired.
But even if it is, there are scars that nothing can change.
I hear echoing shrieks of fear and pain,
And wonder at how I've carried on.
Furious fists of lightening strike me,
And I can't even breathe.
Alone in the midst of a storm,
My brain crackles and fries.
People on the other side of a heavy wall
Reach out and try to help.
But I'm too far gone
To even take their hands.
Words come out, jumbled, bruised,
But no one can hear me or understand.
More pain and more desperation,
I cry out again.
If you listen you will hear
The dreadful pounding against solid wood.
Shocking impacts that batter the bones,
Seem to comprise a universe of pain.
Screams, shrieks and curses.
When will it end?
Slowly, shuttering to a halt,
I return to the realm of reality.
Bruised arms and legs untangle themselves,
Prepared for the next grueling steps, trying to fight my very nature.
..........
Feedback is welcome. PS: can you guess what this is about?
Thanks for reading!
-Vox
(the subject is extremely severe Tourette's syndrome, at least my experience with it.)
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Vox, if it's all right, I'll pray for you.