It's no longer that sharp kind of pain
that shocks you
and leaves you breathless.
It's the consistent, dull thud
of a daily constant
the throb you can get through,
you just have half the oxygen
and half the strength.
The entire world is going
at a million miles an hour
and I have drooped;
sticky eyelids, purple rings
a film covering everything I see.
I used to cope by releasing the
uncontrollable sobs in the shower-
it was more efficient to make a mess of myself
while simultaneously being cleaned.
Now I feel so much that I don't feel like I feel at all.
I wake up covered in sweat and existential dread
knowing that the day holds sagging eyes
and a fake it til you make it mindset
that turns into lying because you haven't made it.
How do you describe your feelings
of cotton coupled with regret
without sounding like a basket case?
You don't,
so you shift your gaze
and shove it down
and drown yourself in anything else.
You remain collected
as you crawl out of your skin
if the outside offense is exhaustion,
it holds no candle to the tumultuous
that is those threads piecing you together inside.
The strings may eventually thin and snap
but for now you are upright
with some slight skin slumping
a small price to pay
for having it all.