tug of the magnet that is my home, dragging me home, promises of cozy in place of fear.
you are safe from the migraines you are safe from the dark you are safe from the crippling weight in your chest.
home is a lie. it's never enough.
'tis the season of hibernation and blankets and soft slow time. quiet and tea. the fetal position. too much sleep.
i have to fight you i have to fight i have to fight.
the stones will drown me. they'd call it pulmonary edema or some such but what they mean is my own body will have killed me, my own stones too heavy to bear.
