And I suddenly can't feel.
I can't read the words I wrote; can't comprehend the language I know. I can't hear the silence or the chaos my mind speaks.
I'm different.
Everything suddenly is.
The usual steps in my comfort zone wrapped the familiar hues of white with gray. Or black. Or nothing.
I am livid, torn, desperate.
Run.
The tangles around my ankles drag me across hell Earth and I am alone, as I've always felt.
Alone, as they told me not.
Alone, as I am made to believe I am not.
Today brings me another cup of coffee I cannot taste, another lavander I cannot smell, another blanket I cannot feel.
Even when caffeine and flowers are my favorites, even though I stay sunken in bed for days.
I do not know who I am.
I cannot live knowing who I am.









