Bones and Blood

Routine. That's the way out of this. Routine. Routine routine routine. Eat my meals when I eat my meals. But I don't want my meals. Deep breaths low and down, filling, rich. Try. Slow, deep, breathing. Eat my meals.

Still here since Friday night. Only Tuesday now but still it hasn't gone away. What is this thing? I expected it to. Not entirely, no, I suppose, a lingering would be expected. But this. No lingering, no, strength, strong, stronger. Growing and growing and building and building, feeling on top of feeling on top of feeling like a pile of clay in the pit of my heart.

Slow deep breathing, eat my meals.

Hard to breath and I can feel it when I do. Hurts to breath, doesn't go away, hard to breath and when I do it hurts. Fingers like they're shaking. They're not. But the bones, the blood, the muscle and veins, it all quivers just beneath the surface. Beneath the surface it's shaking. Beneath the surface it's violent. The bones and the blood. I'm worried that beneath the surface it's all I have.

Slow deep breathing, eat my meals.

Eat what? And why? To gain what? Strength? No. Nothing strong as this. What food? What drink slakes this thirst? But I must. I will squeeze down my bread and water with a fist if I have to which I do which I hate. I will toss and turn and scream out loud and never know peace. I must struggle. I must struggle, to maintain the routine.

Slow deep breathing, eat my meals.

I must struggle. I must do something.