I feel dry up inside of me. Every day feels like I’m falling deeper into a hole of myself, one that ain’t got a floor or even a hell. Just a nonstop falling flight into my insides. Every night, I cry until I’m weak and sleep catches me. I wake up every day and I hurt more than the day before. Like my skin is made from iron, my blood is lava, red-hot, breaking and moving. My bones are a magnet to the core of the earth, locking me to my bed. Every feeling is too much, and I am too little to feel them. Through my curtains, I see the sun is shining, too hopeful for the life I’m choking on.
