I can't speak; the
silence in my head
is so much louder
than the serotonin
rumble-bust. in my
quest to escape me,
I found a miserable
block of ice buried
under my name.

am I a 20 year old
walking tombstone?
will I ever be alive
again?

the tent rustles as
the THC buries
my lungs.

either way, soon
I will be dead or
alive.

patience is a
virtue.

woah is me.