Voices tell me to go back to sleep, a much more gentle option than yesterday’s internal conversation about which knife to use to slice myself up.
I sound deeper, more hollow than shallow recordings left on people’s answering machines
that resonate of both femininity and insecurity.
Narration. Take 1.
You are wallowing in internal melodies that will never reach the light of day. Your voice is suppressed by the fear of how amazing you actually are. Limits appear like dragons in fantasy
novels-without the white knight. And you will never reach euphoria by singing inside.