well being
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Memories created are stored in the colors of sky and sea,
grass and kitchen counter.
Feelings of music and pain are stored in the apple-scented air and sweet breeze of the place I used to be.
There is something wrong with my insides
They are too still, too silent
The wind blows and my brain tries to compensate so it has become my skin, my shield
it complains
jesus it's cold
There is something wrong with my insides
They are too still, too silent
The wind blows and my brain tries to compensate so it has become my skin, my shield
it complains
jesus it's cold
the flourescent lightson her iridescent skinreveal the railroad tracksof her train with no brakes"all aboard," the ageless conductor criesshe climbs in.
There are secrets—Well, there are always secrets.
But there are secrets that lie in wait for me. They lie just below the surface.
For too long, anxiety and depression have been the rulers of my life.
A ruthless king and his queen, with faces of iron and eyes of flame.
Trauma is the groom, waiting for PTSD, his soon-to-be wife.
