hEAvY heAD

There’s a thing that the old people say,

“I’d lose my head if it weren’t attached to me.”

But my head’s not even attached to me and I’ve seemed to have lost it.

I’m continuously attempting to screw and nail it back into place with calming words and gentle lyrics.

However, my brain begins to form into iron and my calming words turn into letters with teeth that gnaw viciously at the seams of my neck which desperately want to hold my head in place.

The letters win, though.

The seams didn’t seem to fight back too hard, huh?

Wait. Maybe that was just me who eventually cut the seams from my neck and released everything.

… Now it’s too heavy and I’ve waited too late.

It tries to attach itself back onto my neck and I cry out because it was never this heavy.

Never before.

I’m fighting and I’m pushing but the skin begins to become a noose, tightening itself around my throat.

icannotbreathe icannotscream icannotspeak

I. Can’t. Brea-

…

I’m now held prisoner to my own head.

This thing I used to use to escape in order to obtain comfort.

Yes, yes! This thing right here that is now filled to the brim with danger and anger and fear.

It reaches out and snatches me back, screaming in my ears, yelling,

“Run, you stupid girl, run!”

and then it laughs.

It cackles disgustingly when I sob because we both know that I cannot.

It’s been years yet it is still. heavy. and I am still. struggling.

Forced. Forced to drag it behind me as it follows heavily along the cracked ground.

Oh, and when it feels like I want to escape?

It pulls back the skin around my throat and pulls too hard. just a little too hard. hard enough to strangle me just enough though.

afterwards, there’s nothing except I’m back where I started with my heavy head attached to my shoulders, only for me to lose it once again.