I wake up laid at the end of tracks leading back to all the things I’d said I wouldn’t—shouldn’t—couldn’t do. I crane my neck and find that the sky is raining. The ash of bad decisions.

My hands outstretch and my body reluctantly creaks to a halfway point between life and death. A drum taps an irregular cadence on my temples.

As my hands meet air, I notice that my previously entwined evening lover is missing. Fragments of her last kiss still hide in my lips. Fragments of her still hide in me.

The drum beats louder…

The song of stagnant vertebrae pierce the morning air as my feet find the floor, and for the first time since resuscitating… I search for my self.

A disquieting lack of vitality sounds through the bedroom. There are no birds. There are no crickets. There are no thoughts.

The residue of my soul could be rinsed off with a sprinkler tapping out the cadence of a well-manicured life.

The drum beats louder…

At my bedside, my phone chirps and vibrates in quick succession. The messages sliding across the glass are undoubtedly unsavory.

Another monster of procrastination chases my patience until I yield or stumble. To be devoured slowly by the unwavering forces of nature, screaming with no lungs for air.

A headline featuring the mangled body of an oil-soaked bird travels across the screen. A performative, pseudo-personalized message akin to “thoughts and prayers” follows.

My blood turns acrid. I can feel the bear’s breath on my neck. I want nothing more than to rip its heart out.

The drum beats louder…

… and louder…

… and louder…

… until the membrane snaps.

A last act in furious defiance of the rhythm.

In the clarity of silence, there is one pure thought.

“I am broken.”

The wind stirs the ash at my feet, softening the footprints that led me here.