slim fingers

my limbs are aching;

my eyes slowly blinking as i

stare at the words your slim,

pretty,

fingers typed

across the fearful sea

that sperates us.

 

my heart jumps in my chest and

i want to type

the words i wish to say,

but my hands aren’t made for

conveying what lies my mind 

strugges to cope with.

 

my eyes strain and i am more aware

of the way each bone in my hands creaks

as i struggle to

ignore

the boisterous,

ignorant,

judgemental,

hateful

mass of unintelligent cells and 

over-active muscle

that lays between my ears,

that begs me to only tell you

the  t r u t h .

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741