Draft feelings, first version

Paralyzed like a fly in your network of silence, my attempts of getting out of the treacherous situation bring me closer to my imminent death. My stomach hurts. I lay in bed hearing every squeak your chair makes. I am tired but I cannot sleep. I am programming pictures to see on the back of my closed eye-lids instead of dreams. Like that I have managed to stay still in bed from 3 am to 8. I have two days. Where do I go? How do I waste them?