Envy for Everything Else

Jealously takes me the same way heavy sleep might, smothering, a late night inconvenience . I can feel it pushing into the most private corners of my mind, sinking into me, cracking my tired bones and seeping deep into them, all shimmering and hot.
I've been far too jealous lately. Not even of people. Jealous of anything that isn't me. This morning I woke up jealous of the sky, quiet and cold and clear and infinite. It was born, reflecting in my eyes. Color spilled into it and then me. The metallic sunlight was real. I just wanted to be real too.

Melt Me.

Some days my words are frozen, numb. They form like ice cubes in my mind, all nicely stacked; they're building blocks, the ones with the sharp edges that scrape at your skin when the tower you made, taller than you, falls down. I tell myself that patience will thaw the words out, make them liquid, flawless, but the sun rises, the heat comes and my mind is still cold .
Being alone is no help. Come warm me up.

Feeling Not So Well

It's been a long time. It's been getting harder. Patience is a virtue and I am not virtuous.
Some nights the frost has been creeping up my windows, swirling in paisley patterns. I wake up in the morning with dawn's winter-pink fingers creeping up behind the glass.
Tonight I remembered my real worst fear: nothing being wrong. With me. The blood tests came back negative, I'm not dying, so now what? I have no more excuses, no maybe way out. I should be happy. Am I happy?