your walls of
salt and blood
beckon me back,
the fish carved into the ceiling
seem to say none
but
"welcome home, friend"

the bruises covering my arms
where the veins should be
tell your story,
my freezing blood
drums in my teeth,
i am unsure.

the white band around my wrist
is my only defining factor.

i am no different from the other kids
sick with exhaustion
and
sick with anxiety
and
sick.

cartoons from my childhood
are running on the tv
and the icy saline
creeps up my spine,
keeping my mind silent.

but really i am cold
and it is late
and i am tired,
but if i sleep
what if i never awaken?

it has happened before.

every time i nearly faint
the thought of going back
hammers my temples,
and i need the break.

but they are annoying
and the most dangerous places to be
alone with your thoughts.

am i insane for enjoying
being sick for a while?

but soon the loneliness
creeps back into my bed
and i cannot wait to leave

until i get back
and i wish i was alone
once again