This is what happens everyday:
I sit, not knowing what to do with myself.
Immobile in my grey chair, as storm clouds
swirl and rain splatters and thunder shatters
the silence. My nails keep curling out of my
fingertips while the hair sprouts from my head—
longer and longer like ropes being pulled from
the mass of a ship; golden; heavy and endless.
Trees swaying and rocking, so clear against
the white shimmer of unseeing eyes, as
the thousands of unborn spiders crawl within
the milky white swinging precariously across
the black abyss which stares out through my lashes.
A heart beat a million times.
My body is stiff, molded to the curve of my
forever-restless squat.