Do you ever really try to find the words? To give a name to the thing that's wrong? Or do you sink in it and let yourself go numb? It's harder to fight something you don't know, something you barely understand. You can't grab hold of fog and cast it out.
You spend your nights now dreaming of escape, of revelation on a Greyhound bus to take you to your saving grace. The best of cowards comes to understand you can fight but not forget. It's a part of you even when you haven't felt it yet.
Splatter of red on a linoleum floor- if it means anything you don't care anymore. You can't even remember what you're fighting for but the growing stain says you've gotta get up again.