My pillow is broken.

​

I lay my head down on it every night hoping for sleep, but all I ever feel is a fear that feels ancient. Deep and dark and screaming for release.

An agonizing symphony of desperation.

It scratches at the walls of my skull until it's fingers are bloody. It pleads and moans and beats it's fists until there is nothing left but dust and bone.

It only wants to exist.

It begs

and fights

and cries

...and every night, I let it die.

Withered and rotten.

Faded and forgotten.

I lift my head to start another day with only a faint echo ringing in my ears.

My thoughts aren't new.

My words aren't worthy.

But you...

Your thoughts are shimmering gold sunlight dancing through my veins and bathing me in a warmth I've never known.

Your words are sacred and holy and make me feel like home.

I want to hold them in my arms and never let them go.

I want to kiss the fists that beat at the walls of your skull.

I want them to be free and loved and known.

I want to rip apart the gates and help them breakthrough.

...But your pillow is broken too...