I just want a warm, quiet corner to hide in. I’m getting ready to perform and find out if I won this city’s performing artist award, but I don’t have the heart right now. Tomorrow, I have work by dawn. My broken home has me on autopilot. I catch myself gritting my teeth and clenching my fists when my body should be at rest.
But I cannot rest. Each day is a hole to crawl out of, to push at the walls as they close in. Hope is illusive, trapped in this dark and lonely corner. If I can’t escape before the days finish blurring together -may god have mercy on my soul.