I know I was human once, but the bones threaten to crest skin, 

too rigid and stiff, too sharp to truly be bones.

 I shower often, as if running water will smooth the stone trapped in dermis, 

as if the steam will lift the fog from my clouded mind. 

It won't, it never does.

My eyes felt hollow yesterday, and the burn of tears were the only thing to sooth them. 

I looked at a screen that didn't love me, until my oceans reached high tide, 

high enough to spill over my well crafted barrier.

I am so small in this dollhouse of a world. 

I am so tired in this dream. I cannot rest when the cavernous walls are pushing into my spine arms back neck legs chest, suffocating me. 

Even now, alone and writing, I feel the weight. 

I feel myself stacked against you, against me, against whatever God or force of nature made me think in a world of thoughtless harm.

I am still so tired.