Bleak and back to black

Freaking dark.
How did I get here?
I can't feel my toes.
I remember flying.
I was special. Just like everyone else.
It doesn't matter now. Anyhow.

epitaph

I've thought and I've thought. I've finally figured out what I want on my gravestone when I die.

"She went barefoot and wrote when she could."

Dead Tired

My gut feels like it sits square in my throat. My eyes burn and water, and I'm not crying, I'm not. I'm just tired. Bones aching, fingers linger, feet drag. Slice on the smile. Chores get done. Nothing changes. The world won't stop for me.

Patience is harder here in my dead brain. Snapping is the easiest to do. How can I be tired and still scream so loud? It does not seem possible.