I'm left staring up at the night sky the only roof left because to many memories are drowning me.

Dead, but not allowed to die. Alive, but as good as dead.

Have I gone mad like Anne and no one has the heart to tell me? I wish someone would tell me, I feel crazy enough though.

I find myself focusing up at the sky — the only roof left — because too many memories are drowning me.

I’m not flailing now, as my muscles are rigid with the tension of holding myself together. The pain over my heart returns, and from it I imagine tiny fissures spreading out into my body. Through my torso, down my arms and legs, over my face, leaving it crisscrossed with cracks. One good jolt … and I could shatter into strange, razor-sharp shards.

In the meantime, I could withdraw to my room, could hide and sleep as if I were dead