i am unforgivable

i'm so tired. it feels like i'm slowly sinking into something dark. cold and murkey. i feel like a chair. a twig. like wood. like water. like nothing. i'm dreaming. everything is silent. like death.

i dont know what to do with this weight. it's heavy and hollow. like smooth cold metal cylinders. i dont know what to do with it. it rolls. like a wheel over a dead person.

is it Ok to say you're scared? can i peer into the screen and pretend it has eyes and can see me?

my elbow's resting on a shelf that belong to the ancient wooden bookshelf in my room. it's a weird bookshelf, painted a nondescript shade of... well, cream, i guess. but it looks grey. dull. flakey.

it's killing me. but that's Ok. i swear it is.