my eyes aren't open yet, but i know i'm here.
my breath is irregular, i hold my breath in impatience;
i've no choice but to exist for the day.
my breath is impatient, and my mind is too.
i need to go, go, go, go, go, go.
i imagine going
until it's too late.

i pull;
i pull;
i pull;
i pull;
i pull;
i pull;
it's not enough.
i'm strewn about, crumbs are scattered,
one foot out the door, one foot sunk in my bed,
one me asking what you think,
one me thinking,
one me thinning,
one me starving,
one me sick,
one me thrashing,
one me shaking,
what a shame that every me is one me.
sometimes it's one me at a time;
most of the time every one me
is me.
sometimes, one me is more than enough.

what's further?
understanding, complacency, your touch?
what was a fortnight became two, three, four, more
more, more, more;
under the guise that more is better.
what's further?
my touch, understanding, complacency?
what was our vacation? became two, three, more, more
more, more, more;
under the guise that I'll understand; I'm fragile.
what's further?
I'm thin. I'm tired. You're far away.
2000 miles or will it always be more?

do we build up or dissipate over time?
i pick
pick, pick, pick, pick away
that’s one thing that never changes.
pick on myself, pick myself, pick myself up.
my skin is raw again.
oh, i’m bleeding.
today was the first day i thought my feet started to look like my mother’s.
we carry the same shape.
am i breaking down into a shell over time?
oh god, i’m turning into my mother.
i see my mother breaking down into what was once my grandmother.
but i don’t get it.
every day, more happens at me, to me, in me.
you’d think there’s more to me.
maybe i pick it away.
until all that’s left,
is
pick pick pick.