I can feel brash fingertips running down my back, smoothing the bumps out of my spine as I move slightly to the left, only slightly, so feebly. Resistance is natural.
Field mice cradle their young and nest in my ribs. The laughter shaking me is really them scurrying away from my twitching heart.
If I could I'd forget how to breathe just long enough to see the Earth in red, allow the dust in my lungs to settle and not stir.
I want to spill my blood to see the starfish in it, the things gripping to my aorta.
I will sink into the mud, become one with the ground, smell the rotting and the dirt. I want to taste what it's like to be reborn the right way.
My friends hand shakes because he's so thin, his blood moves him, my boyfriend has hips like hills. I have a voice like the ringing after a bomb.
Tell me, where is hell from here?
Tell me, where did I drop the key to living?
Tell me, what's the easiest way to slip into a coma, like sand, like sand through a child's fingertips?
I wrote this in school listening to Dandelion Hands lol