I have no theories to share but my thoughts make up facts of their own. The light buzz that you feel when sitting standing and being still;
Like blind city lights with no blurs in between

the sting and pestering rashes random pair of eyes leave on your skin;

the space between your baby hairs and sweaty tanks;

the one that leaves pursed pores when kissed stroked and grazed on. A museum with your scattered footsteps only,

but your stories are ceilings today, leaving long chapters in people’s minds; lazily untouched by a misunderstood question.

Or an abused rock.

The many hours spent with palms crouched, held over still telephones.
The thin line of desperate expectation vibrates. On. On. And on.
On still. A ring cracks the dialogue in your mind.

The walls sigh at your mother’s worried tone peeling the spaces in your eardrums, your heart, and your will to live.

“Your sister asked of you today, do you not want to see her again?”

I don’t know. The mirror hasn’t said a thing yet. My body shook as I walked today and the world felt funny. I couldn’t will my pulses to stop racing time. Water came out from my pits; forehead and the ocean had no apologies to offer.

I opened my lips long enough to snap them hard, sufficient to miss my tongue. That’s your eyes scurrying away and me sinking again.

The phone is full of rhetorical questions and the world feels heavy but the ground seems light and my tongue feels dry.

There’s a stem with broken branches where my life seeps out, hurriedly, out of pale skin. The missed train will understand. The pills that were never enough will understand. The weak rope will understand. The short buildings with deceitful apex will understand. Missed opportunities’, heaps on heaps on heaps, will understand. My sister’s polite concern will understand. And so will my mother’s constant worries.

But my theories remain the same. A misunderstood fact. The mirror stares back, blank and patient;

like the blood sputtering out my tongue wasn’t reason enough.