"don't panic,"* i scream,
stumbling over my own
feet like how i often do when i'm
drunk.

don't go," i yell,
my voice hoarse against the pouring
rain like how it often is when i'm
crying.

but then i wake up, twisting my
hair between my fingers, drenched in
sweat from another all too realistic
dream.

it's an odd time to be an actress.
my role: human walking.
one foot in front of the other, but
it feels like i'm floating,
left above myself to watch
helplessly,

the tragedy that is someone else's life; except

it isn't someone else.

it's me.