About today

I am by the stove brewing water for my chamomile tea. My stomach has been burning for two days now. Pills, tea, food don’t help. I tried sleep, but it’s been evading me again. I’ve been in and out of sleep all night long, turning and tossing, making a mess out of my bed sheets. After a while, I stopped checking the clock on my phone. What use to it anyway? As of late, my days start all the same, in and out of focus. Sadness lingering on me like a second skin. There’s this tiredness in my limbs that won’t go away. My thoughts shift, but they end up in the same place. I don’t want to be here anymore. I don’t want this life. Tears slip away over the bridge of my nose, in the hollow above my lip. Frustration makes its way up my throat and into my mouth, the taste of bile strong on my tongue.

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