gris

Every month of life in my recent years has felt as if a tally on a concrete wall.

I am a prisoner to the unknown amidst bewilderment.

I try my best to make a path of my own by taking steps forward each day; even the smallest has given me hope.

Though, it’s only when I find the ground once more do I realize it’s paper…crumbling, always crumbling beneath me.

Photo by Diego González on Unsplash

Stay still…wait…stop moving…

I have been told these very words for time one end, and the amount of tally marks before me drives me mad.

To remain still any longer, as I swear it — God knows I tried — be a surrender to indefinite insanity.

This stillness is endless, the silence, deafening —

s’il vous plaît, libère-moi.