when the pawn

the brain creates despair, the body absorbs it, reflects it back like heat, light. it is a closed circuit. enormous; intolerable. and yet i keep breathing, keep choosing every moment the next, and the next. the terribleness of hope, of faith, of temporary betterness. when it's too hard to blink. when there is no happy place, space, there is only this hole that opens in the chest, a gaping maw, an unhinged jaw. an invasion of the weed that will choke you, slowly, over time, consume what is yours and leave nothing but itself and a husk so empty it blows away in the lightest of winds.

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This entry was originally posted at Dreamwidth.