mental health dangles by a thread – weighed down by lost loves and the sparse foundation of my family unit. Fibre by fibre, the thread weakens from the weight of being. So frail is the thread, though it has weathered storms past, there is no way to hide the
overturned trees, floods, and sediment that have accumulated, blocking the sun from my eyes. I try to tell myself that I am just blinking, that I will soon open my eyes to cotton candy sunsets and children running to the ice cream parlour, but I know that
I am only lying to myself. I am not clever enough to cover my own tracks.