On my worst days,
when the weight grows
h
    e
      a
        v
          y
and the rot takes root in my mind,
I find comfort in the darkness.

No amount of ice held
in clumsy hands
can stop the resentment
from pouring into
the cracks.

On days like these,
the mirrors stay covered,
the curtains, drawn.
I start to seek out
what I know will hurt me.

In the darkness,
a bell rings.
A purring mass
makes its home on my chest,
scooping out the hate
that paralyzes me.

The clouds begin to pass.
The world becomes smaller,
confined to the four walls
of my room.
I know that I will be okay.