I am.

I’m that whisper that floats on the wind

The leaf that gets ripped from its branch,

The chill in the air that leaves you breathless.

I’m also a speck of dust

So small you can’t see me

You can’t hear me

You won’t hear me,

You won’t hear the whisper and the shout

The scream that fills my head

And that murderous voice that reminds me

The voice that circles in my melancholy head

“You’re not good enough for this, you’re not good enough for anything.”

You won’t hear it because I won’t let you

Because I don’t want to burden you with these words -

I don’t want you to feel that you have to help me;

I can’t be helped now.

It’s okay.

It’s alright.

It’s fine, so fine in fact that I can smile at you and you won’t know how achingly frozen I am,

I suppose that’s because you don’t want to know the cold anymore

That’s okay.

I’m okay

(No I’m not, I live a life of lies)

I can bear my burden alone like I always seemed to

I can do this alone.