I Am Truly Afraid of Not Living

The weight of every exhausted metaphor sleeps underneath my eyes. It’s the only thing that does nowadays. I don’t hold anything in the chaos of my hands. None of this makes sense. But, My brain is the crushing gift of God. Sometimes it is a blessing But, Most days I am leaking juniper berries Between pages of a book. I stain everything red. I have lost the words to describe how my days feel like frosted windows. Nothing is ever clear. But I keep looking through them in the hope that I will see Something. I will See anything. I am in the edge of nothing One step in either direction With the fear of falling. On step and my hands will Once again Paint but create nothing My greatest fear is that I live an empty book With pages that were written by someone else With words that are merely casts of they should be I am truly afraid of not living