yes?

there are no standing at red lights,
waiting to cross the street.
what would i do with my hands?
those awkward rubber-strings
extending at great lengths from my shoulders.
there are no more walks outside,
in the light of day.
it hurts when people step on my shadow.
physically, i think.
mentally, perhaps?
there are thoughts sometimes,
at late nights,
of drowning my brain in formaldehyde.
through the glass-jar,
maybe it could see what's wrong with me.
but other times i'm fine, yes!
yes.
yes.
yes?
i'm just fine.