I keep telling myself to breathe.
Why is it so hard to do the most basic of things.
Teeth chattering, feet pressed to the ground. I’m not even sure why the tears flood my face, and yet I do. I’m begging for release, emptied onto a page, washed down the sink.
Every moment is fleeting, yet stagnant.
Everything in my head, on the edge of my tongue, on the tip of my fingers.
Every fire I light burns down the forest.
Containing violence between clenched fists and forced breaths. the need to tear oneself apart.
I can not do this. the feelings are too strong and I am too weak.