I carry on and on and on and on and it’s just not enough. The world falls still and delicately sits at my feet. I watch everything turn as I squirm in silence. I’m the con and everyone feels my silence scream through them- I mask it with laughter because I swear I’m okay. I’m well. I’m doing just fine: it’s nice to meet you all over again and again and again. It’s the breaking. Curtain closed. Final act. No one will ever really know how fast I sink to the bottom. And I lace it with tones that make you feel well. I’m doing better than you thought, right? Tell me a lie if you have to. I’ll promise you a truth. I’m well. I’m doing just fine. Just don’t make me explain it all over again. Because grief is a definition that I keep rewriting in my dreams and I’m out of ink. I feel like I have to earn back my own trust – but please watch as I light my dreams on fire and put them in an urn for safekeeping. Does this make you worry? I’m well. I promise I’m well. I mean well. It’s just the worlds way of showing me that it’s teeth are still sharp. I still feel that sting after all this time. I carry on and on and on and on and it’s just not enough. AMT