It’s been awhile since I’ve slept
But I’m sleepwalking everyday
They say this city never sleeps
Been empty since you walked away

Mama, find me a wishing well
They say time travel isn’t real
And I’m all grown, live on my own
Got nothing but time, but these wounds won’t heal

Momma find me a mockingbird
They say the universe still expands
Time is relative, so I’ve heard
But how did you slip through my hands?

It’s dark at night, still, even here
I think I’m only cold when I’m alone
They say adults shouldn’t have these fears
But I’m not an adult, I’m just big-*****

Even these textbooks read like fiction
Watching all these people's lives
Rub my hands to generate friction
Making sure I’m still alive

So close your eyes and stop your protesting
Absorb what little oxygen your lungs still take
Pretend you’re perfectly, peacefully resting
Maybe your body will forget that it’s fake

And while I’m staring up at the ceiling
or staring into the bottom of a glass
or staring straight through the smile on my mirror
I just sometimes get so tired

Tired like my skeletal system is tired of being a skeletal system and being the one thing that keeps this mess of soft tissues and sharp edges in its upright and locked position
Tired like my mind is an old slide reel projector that’s been playing for days if not weeks and the film is starting to corrode
Tired like if I were just to empty my lungs, and my body were to forget to remind me to refill them, I might just let it
Tired like I’m sure the soles of my shoes must have carved canyons into the concrete by now, because erosion is a two-way street
Tired like if universal entropy is really how this planet is going to go, then I’m content to sleep until I become nothing but a soupy mass of atoms spinning through absolutely nothing
Tired like I’m sitting up in bed, avoiding checking the time, watching the blades of my fan spin and thinking about sine waves, the face of the clock is blinking but I can’t catch a wink, and every two minutes my mind shakes me awake and takes me on a field trip
and I have to let it

I can feel winter coming.
It’s more than the wind that scrapes me every time I’m forced to go outside, it’s more than the ice in the air every time I breath, spiraling away from me like smoke.
It’s the ice that’s settling into the pit of my stomach, the pit of my soul.
I can feel myself freezing.
I don’t remember warmth, I live in the dark. I’ve got nothing and no one to keep me from this hailstorm
It’s the ice in my mind, every morning taking longer and longer to thaw, no matter how many pills I feed it
It’s the ice in my bones, freezing me in place. Movement isn’t impossible, it’s painful, and the cracks are starting to show through

I know what I do in winter.
I cry in winter, in the morning when I realize I’m awake and in the night when I realize I’m alone
I don’t walk in winter, I shuffle and I dig myself deeper into the ground with every footstep
I think too much in winter, I think myself in circles around the room and sometimes 6 feet below the ground, no longer pacing
heart no longer beating or burning

I know who I am in winter
I am a shadow in winter, the absence of light
I am a girl, just a girl, and hardly old enough to die, but apparently old enough to barely live
I am a fool in winter, who looks for warmth and finds a fire, enjoying the burns because she’s missed the sensation of feeling
I am alone in winter, because no one hears this story, and no one knows how far into the ground I fall

I hope to survive in winter, because that’s the most I can ask for