Mouthful

 i swear

i'm fine.

By which i mean 

i'm eating enough

to keep me alive.

By which i mean

i was born

with rivers and streams

in my mouth

and they don't 

have the mercy

to drown me

and finally end this charade

Most days, the words "i'm ok" live at the base of my tongue like a mantra. Half of the time, i'm repeating it to myself. i'm not sure i even know how to admit i'm struggling more than usual. Even when i can feel the color crumbling from my eyes.

Someone once told me that surviving doesn't mean living. i don't know if that's true or not, but every day i manage to pull my bones from the bed feels like a defeat. Like humiliation. Every day the rivers in my mouth don't fill my lungs i count as survival; i count as life. And life is another day without relief from this nightmare. 

I've been told hell is not only of our own making but it is unique to each individual. This must be true, i am living proof.