Stuck

There is dirt under my fingernails and sadness on my sleeve.
This pain is stuck in a vortex of fat cells ever expanding.
Fat cells.
Soft.
Used once for protection has now become my number one enemy.
Waking up everyday with guns blazing.
Somedays are easier than others.
I am the really fat man in the doorway.
I have banished myself into seclusion.
Like Anne Frank.
No, I wasnt kidding.
The words were heard and the action took place.
3 days away.
Not sure it will make it OK.
Behind the wall.
Nobody knows.
There is dirt under my fingernails and sadness on my sleeve.