The truth that I tell you is this: I got out of bed. Which took only a moment. Unless you really want to know. Want to know the weight of the metal chains that tug when I force my body from its only reprieve. A reprieve that is lost, to the abyss and to the twisted version of my life that runs through my dreams. Maybe I would tell you what it’s like to look around and realize that I’m still alive. That I will have to do it all over again, when it feels like I just finished yesterday. The way my brain has to catch up to my head when I turn, lagging behind and seeing the furniture in my room but not knowing that it’s really there. The defeat of giving in when I shift my weight to the ground and drag my feet like dead weight toward the same thing. Over and over again.

One more time.

One more time.

One more time.