My bed used to be for sleeping. Now it just holds me. Not with comfort—just weight. I stare at the ceiling more than sleep letting silence say things can’t. There’s a voice in me that whispers and wish could ignore it but it’s familiar. And familiar feels safer hope. don’t know who am these days. Even mirror looks tired of seeing door world heavier every morning. People they’re there me— what if they get it? What their kindness is politeness? So scroll. For hours. Wondering I’ll ever feel whole by myself. Music sleep help forget. Therapy? Maybe later. listen my thoughts instead. mind’s cluttered room can’t sort. Some days pinch myself something real. The distance doesn’t help. Loving someone through screen like trying hold water. She’s peace she’s far. where belong anymore. tell I’ve got this. But don’t. I’m hollow. cracked. drifting. ---