lately i’ve been able to string sentences together
and look strangers in the eye when i pass them
i no longer need mental coaching to step outside
or litres of coffee for my limbs to function

but i am emptier, my passive aggression is doormat
my skin is no longer a restrictive cocoon  - but a mirror
and it reflects my sadness into dark folds inside of me
that my medicated brain can no longer reach

i am not serene or content - instead i am sterile
of an illness that has been eating away at my memories
and colouring all of my days matted reds. but in the process
of recovering i have somehow become less human.