I'm on the edge. I'm off the edge. I'm over the edge and falling into hell on the other side. I'm down in the cracks of the sidewalks. In the dirt and in the blood, and the ants are looking up. I'm in the trenches and I can't get out. No matter how hard I try to maintain my calm and collected persona, I know it is all a ruse. All I wanted to do was curl up in a ball and hide. Hide from the world. Hide from my memories. Enter a shell and never leave. But mine would always be a broken shell, with all her cracks and holes exposed for the world to see. The veneer I had carefully painted to protect and hold myself together was peeling away.
