My colic weighs heavy down.
The space between it and gravity.
Me.
The pressure.
The loneliness of (my) skin
Sitting upon my face.
How ****** are the nerve endings that must go out unto this world
With me at the wheel.
Muscles writhing into a smile
Like snakes on fire
Or slugs in salt.
My eyes roll up in a possessed contort.
My body, no longer.
My own.
I think I have figured out how one would...
contract. such a disease.
apathy. such a powerful thing.
such a powerful thing
that has haunted me for three hundred and twenty days.
and twenty days before,
It was the same.