Who I Used To Be

by Cyndi Yuska

This semblance of sanity quickly

                fades

your face
      cringes,
your heart
     sinks,
your head
     spins,
you can't
     think.

So many days
     gone without sleep:
walls heave stiff chests
towards you,

you stumble by

(collapse).

The world stares
     through prescription lenses
much too strong for its many pairs
of eyes.

You pound your fists at the thick glass
until your knuckles
     bleed,
your fingers
     break
your wrists
     swell, crack.

But you can't feel the pain
as you sink against
the distorted glass at your back.

It's hard when the sun can't reach you,
each day your heart droops
     sadder than the last.
But someday something breaks the glass surrounding.

You can
     breathe
You can
     stretch your arms
You can
     smile
You can see
     the world looking back
         right at you.