every rosebush has its thorns

numb.

1/29/19
I lie awake, toss the covers off.

Try to wrench open my eyes like a jammed door, It's no use. The fog consumes me.

Everything is up in flames, I'm burning a hole through this bed to the center of the earth.

I gasp for breath, fingertips run across my shoulder, All over me, like flames consuming me from the outside in.

Eyes jolt open, I grip the sheets. Curl in on myself. Flick the light on.

Alarm beeping endlessly from the other room. It's 6 AM.

Tears run down my face and I feel like Alice when she's drowning her own tears, like a forgotten chapstick at the bottom of a suburban mother's purse.

Like the waves keep crashing and there is never any time for me to breath.

Never even a moment for me to cry out for help.
I cough. Inhale the sea water.

The flames have swallowed me whole and yet I am drowning.

Drowning in him. In my own thoughts.

Everything is too loud.

I count to ten. My voice shakes. I pull the covers up to my chin, wrap myself up like a caterpillar.

I wonder if I'll ever the chance to transform.

Get to be a butterfly.

I try to close my eyes but all I see is that gaze. Like I am an antique vase. A precious collectible. A porcelain glass he'd love to break.

I shutter. Rub my eyes. Try to scrub the feeling off of me.

I'm so tired of feeling ruined.

Feeling like I shattered on that linoleum floor years ago.