My Plea to Rest

“Who is in the garden?
My little demons!”

Little song that played on repeat as I rolled down the bridge of my bed.

They broke from the chains of happiness.
From my will of smiles and joy—
All built as a cover up.

Anxiety, my watch word.
I could barely breath nor imagine what it felt like exhaling deeply.

I wanted words to play with—
Instead words played a quick one on me
It turned the tables and displayed a section of hide-and-seek.

I searched in my box of inspiration,
In my files of packed up letters,
I looked at my ink and my latest font.
All to nothing
All to the fact I hadn’t found and played my own part of the game.

To what now, huh?
To the fact that the only ink I have left which hasn’t dried up is the transparent color of my eye drops.
MY TEARS.

I got choked up
Felt like my world meant nothing.

Texted a few people:
—I got to go flat battery
—You have to do this
—Speechless
—You will be fine!!

Wow.
Really,
So I really cannot call anyone to talk to when I need someone.

You say you care?
You’re sure you do?

No, you don’t!
Have a re-think
Because I did already.

Why not share?

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