Myself
My brain hurts.
In sync.
With itself.
I could be…
Inside.
With no windows.
But they give me a window anyway.
My heart sits.
When I am screaming.
But also not doing anything.
I wish that,
I could knock over the glass vase.
That is silent as me.
My arms are weak.
I can’t give myself a push.
On the swing.
That promises to come back to me.
But it is too tiring for now.
Your
Brain hurts for no reason.
The reasons you force yourself to cry about.
Are not funny.
But you are.
Your heart sits patiently.
Seemingly not doing much.
The silence.
Is a whirling, unique silence.
Your arms are weak…
From doing push ups.
There are no enemies.
Just the carpeted floor with a mat on it.
There are no enemies.
Just you.
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