Cold

For years and years

my chest was getting colder

and it was pinning my body to my bed

and my head to the pillow

Depression was making the tip of my nose cold

and it was making my wrists tremble

and it was gluing my will-power to the inner contours of my skull

until it died from lack of air

It made me feel indescribably hollow

as if someone could press a cold scalpel to my skin and it wouldn't hurt

and I knew that if someone ripped the wound wider and shouted into it

they would hear echoes coming off of every vein