When the little things are overwhelming
And simple is too much.
When fatigue is all too familiar
Like a twin sister.

When cold feels real
and warm is foreign.
When nothing helps
save for seeing red.

Nothing makes sense
because you know too much.
And dark is bright
and bright is at night.

When high socks are favourable
and long sleeves.
When friends are a mere walk away
But also a thousand miles.

When everything is too much
And nothing is inside.
When all of this is real
And real doesn't exist.
© Brigid149