A thin layer of dust
Has fallen over me.

Draped itself
Over the pathways in my brain,
Coated every toe,
Every pore,
Every inch of me.

I’ve put myself
Up on the shelf,
Closed a cupboard
Door
Over my individuality.

I’m just trying to survive right now.

It baffles me
That there are people in this world
Who just
Do
Things.
Just do things,
And only question if they want to,
Not agonize
Over whether or not
It’s the right thing,
If the action’s
Equal opposite reaction
Will destroy some aspect
Of themself,
Or others.

I question
Every moment
Whether I’m wrong,
If I’m hurting something.

It makes me afraid to move.

So I let dust collect
Over myself,
Perfectly good joints
Rust solid,
Eyes glaze over,
Body fossilizes.
Because that’s
So much easier,
Than picking myself apart,
Trying to be perfect.

It’s so much easier
To be nothing
Instead of
An impossible
Perfect something.