I lie here beneath my covers feeling as though I should be buried deep underneath my bed, my house, this world. the proximities between myself and the existence of others is so far away yet I feel as though I’m on a suffocatingly full train trapped between a heavily pregnant woman and a priest. My main anxiety in life is being “in the way”essentially like a pin on the floor that people stand on and have to yank out in one pull. They’ll streak out a cry and wince so that their whole body converts inwards as the sharp neurotic pain punchers their organs forcing their stilettos to deflate in fluctuant shapes and sizes holding their fragile bones in self comfort on the cobbled floor which they now contemptuously avoid with distrust and anger.

Buts thats me. I hurt and then I leave however I have a habit for not healing. The sting will stay with every walk and step they take. They’ll feel me like a chomp at the leg. They won’t jolt though, imagine the embarrassment of the posing question. “why are you limping” imagine someone, anyone noticing your pain, your weakness and to reply with the repulsive tones “I stood on a pin” Their faces would scrunch up as a ripple of laughter would eurrup from their quaking shell and leave you to endure the pain from multiple hard lashes of every “ha” over and over. They’d be broken, no one knows how long, no one cares enough to think. But they’ll be thinking, their brains will be fuled with anger and pain towards the pin. Towards me.



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