July 2018
Give me back my fucking sleep.
It's so rare to find one planted in the same soil; miles away for years, but now our branches brush. It's 11:24 PM and I'm itching. Have been all week. It may just be that I sat underwater for two years, but it may be that you're a rock in my shoe and you won't tell me when I can take you out.
The light is steady red. The blood sits at the surface of my skin, yet I prayed I could doze off before it blinked blue. If it blinks blue. It's the same as last night. It's been the same all week. And it hasn't been this way since before my glass belly turned to steel. Before, I sat at the top of my head and watched. Now, I'm in it. I'm in all of it. There are a billion ways this could end.
It's too much, all at once.
