Some days I feel a thousand years weary. Trapped a forever-teen, frozen core and angst-riddled.

Outsider. Isolated. Incapable of translating the aches of my forearms, clawing at my sternum, or distress in my gut to make any sense beyond feral screams.

The fear, wildness, confusion clothed in apathy and tumbling forth as tears, grey palor, an appetite gone astray.

Distraction deflects for a time but the reality check becomes all the more bracing. I cannot fathom ever feeling different, even if yesterday was opposite in every way.

Evermore I am trapped, concrete resolution and in my final form - - how could I possibly be wrong when these days last a thousand years and memories, physical remembering, atrophies as my tears dry and hope evaporates with my breath, hot and laden with worry.