fairy whispers and inky half-formed memories beat shattered-glass moth wings against the brittle crystal cavern of your skull.

wait.

it's been a long time since you
remembered how to breathe,
and maybe that's why sometimes you sit in the surf and **** the ocean into your lungs,
and maybe that's why you smoke,
so that for thirty seconds it's okay
to look like you are choking.

inhale spun sugar and dreaming dust.
exhale chalk and emptiness.

wait.

maybe someday you will cough all the shards out of your lungs.
today you take shots so you have permission
to let the burn flicker across your face
and you jump into freezing water so you don't have to explain
why you always look like you are drowning.

it's not rest, but it's the closest thing you can remember.

maybe one day you'll stop feeling so
raw.