There are days where-
Over-
There are-

There are days where claws are hooked in the back of my skull.
They’re stuck.
Scraping one ever-existing line in white cracked bone
over and over and over.

How do we-
How do we live our lives like this?
How do we live in empty pools flooded with worry we would drown?

There were never any stories
where the dragon to be slain
was my own **** mind.