The weight of my reality and my mistakes has cracked the surface of my sanity and I lay here tracing the lines with a lone finger and a tired thought. I have begun toying with an idea, a possibility that I may not be well. That while warring against my emotions and my beliefs, while trying to start over again and again and again… I have snapped. In several places. I have branched out into different women wanting and trying, giving and wearing ideas that don’t seem to fit. I revolutionise myself every morning and fall apart every night. And it’s always the same. Always. The day cuts itself open and night bleeds out thickly over all of my things and I wish I could somehow fade into it and wait until it pales into morning where I cease to exist. It is a coward thought, but a hopeful one. There are too many cracks in my soul, too many chips in my bones and all the King’s horses and all the King’s men could never put me together again.