i fall so hard

clawing my way up the walls of the dried-up well again.
fingers bleeding. that's okay. makes it real.
stuck in a sort of state of mental stillness in a time
where that kind of thing is no good
but hey.
nights not slept. that's okay.
some days, most days, are better through a haze.

where am i? where was i?
always broken at the wrong time
i find myself sitting in dewy grass in the moonlight
sweating and crying, and nothing feels real.
i find myself in places where we went together
find myself admiring rusty locks and boarded-up windows
grey skies and muddy footprints
motorways.

i find myself leaning against the window
and wondering, what if it broke under my weight
what if i lost my balance and fell ten stories down
and what then

i'll just sit here and breathe for now.
waiting for someone
something
whatever
to distract me.