I know I can feel. I know there’s this giant muscle, a vat of honey that oozes and screams with every ounce of exertion it takes to be human.
I know that I exist. That I resist. That I love.
And yet I can feel myself turning to stone. Marble. My hide tanning with rejection and my teeth gnawing my cheeks as each instance the world becomes a darker place.
But I try to fight for those moments of tenderness. Those fantasies inside my head. That knowledge that there is still beauty and depth.
It gets harder each time.
There’s a chasm in my chest where my naivete used to reside. Now it’s just empty carbs and the skins of vegetables. A vast hole of distractions and shitty day time television.
Hope weaves its way into my ribcage once and while. I must wait for her call.
like a child waiting for the tooth fairy.
or santa clause