CW: mental illness
By Jazmine M. Lampley
The bed creaks as she tosses and turns. The pillows, though supposed to be fluffy and comforting, leave her head as if she is laying on bricks.
Her own body is something she can’t rest in, skin prickling and crawling though nothing is there. She bats away the nothingness in front of her eyes. Darkness. It doesn’t go away on its own. Only light can do that, and it’s all gone out of her.
Her fingers twirl around the air, feeling for something she can’t put them on. Words escape her tongue, and they dribble out of her mouth.
See me.
Help me.
Save me.
She finds herself walking down a stony path, following the faded suddenly present light. Her flesh stings, her eyes burn, her mouth dries. Deafening silence surrounds her before she crashes from the anguish of sleepless nights.
Kicking, screaming, and tracing the stars on the ground and up the sky, and the universe is collapsing onto her.
Clanging and shattering into her soul, she shrieks. The universe cannot be stopped. Where could she go? Twirling her fingers, steadily trying to trace the stars in the nothingness.
Heartland Society of Women Writers 
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