I exaggerate everything.
The pain under my eyes.
The strain in my muscles.
Every time, it’s a unit darker and heavier.

There’s a relief; a moment of ecstasy,
In over describing things.
I feel real.

A bubble of air sits in my veins.
It stings.
It burns in the gaps.

How do I honour it?

I try.
Every time.
With a unit darker and heavier.