fiction – Can't Not Write

High Functioning

Pen scratches, dirty dishes
stained pillowcases
uniform
Sleep.

It happened again,
An unwelcomed guest
Crossed paths before
Over and
over again.

Cut, cut, cut
the young girl’s hair falls to the floor.

You ask yourself, who will I be now?

Seeing is believing.
A sea of red in a crowd of voices,
people who were once separated.

How very studious of you
How very productive

Pour another glass, tuck yourself in
You have nowhere to go
no one to see
Not in this world

She speaks and swallows back the words
as soon as they leave her tongue,
a delayed censoring.

A book falls, I fall.

The proper thing to do is to pick it up, dust it off and hold it close to your heart.
Not me, not this time.

Although I haven’t climbed these stairs in years
they always sound the same
under my feet,
creak and splinter,
in the same spots.

Is it possible to split this heart in two and give away the pieces?

They are sharp, jagged.
Not equal,
not perfect halves.

Relax
here’s a small pond

The water feels like needles pricking every inch of me
but never strong enough to rip me open