I'm breathing in the smoke of my mental illness's cigarette // ANY/Leilan

[Trekori]

Trekori

i'm freezing, it's not winter yet
but my fingers and toes
are shivering beneath these sheets
and i feel so alone
i don't want to die, i want to sleep

I've been flying, stretching out my admittedly thin muscles, testing the winds that blow stormily in the autumn sky. In my short life, I've never been one for staying places long - always on the run, though from what I cannot tell you. From that sinking, sucking feeling, that voice that says: you're running out of time.

The meadow stretches out below me, and I figure that it's as good a place to land as any. My stomach gurgles, I am hungry, and that grass is very green. Yet as I am landing, my golden wings tucking easily into my skinny, bony hide, I know that I will not take even a single bite.

Something to do with romancing death, I suppose.

Sighing and ignoring my stomach's noisy complaints, I begin walking towards where I know a stream runs. The wind is chilly and the weak sunlight does little to warm my shiver patchwork skin, but I don't mind. Better to be bone cold than drenched in sweat, in life, in energy. The shivers suit me.