I can feel that damp, course grass beneath my feet.
I'm nauseous again, in that place again.
I can feel their eyes on my veins,
I can feel him, breathing on my neck,
I can hear him laughing.

It's dizzying, sickening,
like blaring white noise
screeching from a broken radio.

It's an itch that crawls down my arms,
a hand around my throat that tells me to stop breathing;
to stop fighting.

I want to give in.
I want to bleed again.
To feel the metal scrape through all my layers
and cut me open.

I want to cut it all away.