I haven’t posted many of my thoughts lately. Mostly out of a cringe in my stomach telling me to hold back the tide of bile. An anger lurks underneath the bed.
And you are healing? Aren’t you feeling your way out of the dark yet?
Ive been here so long. You fit like a glove. The peeling back of every layer. Every fear succumbs to my scratching fever. The bedside table rarely tips. The icy water barely sipped.