when i sit on the couch all day long, typing & staring into the screen & doing nothing at all. there's a something inside of me, then. sitting dormant. it's snowing just outside the window & all i want is to leap into it, to bury myself in the cold & the numb & the soft. but i won't go, because i am here, & it's easier to stay. even though staying makes me itch, deep inside. longing to be something. my toes are fidgeting - this way, that way - but the rest of me is still.

often when i'm angry i punch myself because i can't just live with the rage & i'm left with a bruise & a hollowness inside.

i think sometimes it would be such a pretty thing to be running, away from everything. cold air slapping my swollen lungs makes everything feel okay for a moment & when i'm selfish i want it to be longer. getting dressed in the morning makes everything better but it's 9pm & i'm still in pajamas. twice in a while i forget how to breathe.

when i close my eyes this is all that there is. this room in this house. the walls are covered in faces, made of paper & marker & glue. the floor in the corner there contains its own universe of legos. i think maybe it's an endless pool of worlds & it makes me even lonelier, but in a nice way. i want a cold rock to put in my hand just so i can feel the weight of it. i want to feel whole.

maybe i'm a supernova, or the reverse of it. maybe this is when i implode.

or maybe i'm just a person.

that thought's scarier, somehow.