When people ask me how I am, I want to tell them the truth that I feel as though I am rotting within the confines of my bones. This unraveling thing that I am bound in skin held taught by the hopes of dreams of the people who need me to be who I am in their heads. The ooze of my failure being held at bay by teeth bared in a smile and nails manicured. I feel as though I am rotting within the confines of my bones a cage of flesh I dress up so pretty for everyone to admire while my own eyes beg to close to cease to see to be at rest. But I am a liar, so instead I smile and say I'm well, how are you?



















