[Recession]
February – March 2015, I am falling apart. What I feel is indescribably ambiguous. I can’t bear the weight of the words I have not written and the steps I have not taken; their pressure makes tiny painful cracks through every bone in my trembling body. I cannot hold the heart beats inside my chest; the loud inconsistent beating shutters the cracked bones and leaves my chest wide open; I collapse into dreams of death and non-existence. I am falling apart. The indescribably ambiguous feeling fills the cracks in my bones and melts the shattered pieces together. I am wide awake. The poems I have not written and the walks I have not taken are hunting me. My melted bones are stiff and unresponsive. My soul is scared and anxious. I take a never ending deep breath and I scan how the wooden floor feels beneath my passively relaxed body. I’d rather feel it beneath my feet, but I have been struggling to stand up for too many mornings to remember. I collapse. I fall into a sea of silence. My footsteps are scattered everywhere, I cannot remember where to go; I cannot see the light, I cannot trust my next step, I walk in spirals, my reflections collide and I collapse. I am wide awake. I take a never ending deep breath and I scan how the keyboard feels beneath my fingertips. My hysteric heartbeats echo in the furthest corners in the space I occupy, the echoes are hollow and heavy, their teeth bite my fingertips and the writing slowly bleeds out. I do write. I do have a voice; it rattles but it is audible; it is thin but it is visible. It seems ghostly, but surely it does exist; and it is dear to me.
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