don't die in me.

"I am crawling in my skin..."

fuck.

This is not where I need to be.

This is not who I am, 

fully.

This is not who I want to be.

I want out.

out.

out.

My brain is mush under this routine,

my spirits smothered by standards

and my body is a joke to my brain.

Life has become a ridiculous comedy house these days.

My fingertips are grasping for something more,

but my toes are firmly planted into the soil;

the roots are envious.