Sometimes I'm tired of being me.
Tired of being caught in the in-between.
Partly numb, but partly living... living only because I'm still breathing.
A whisper of breath left inside, life is a sliver in my soul... shrinking smaller & smaller; now the size of a splinter, cold and frozen like ice, chilling my veins-- coursing through my arteries, a frosty, frigid rushing winter river.
Penetrating, piercing ice.
I can feel it seeping through my soul, filling up my lungs with snow, stolen life encased in a clear, glass house between my bones.
So why can't I wake up?
Why can't I smash the glass & melt the ice, to take back what belongs to me?
Stuck in a dream that I just can't get out of-- knowing that I'm on the edge of dying,
but clinging to the hope that one day I'll open my eyes
& find out that my bones have been thawed out after all.
I want to tear off this mask, the face that pretends to be me, but really isn't anyone at all.
I don't even know who I am anymore.