IT

It’s like a beast clawing and gnawing the constant pool of snakes in your gut. The cold ice shard between your shoulder-blades.

Arms and stomach numb, eyes shifting beneath downcast lashes, shaky sighs, jerky movements. Jumpy, jaw clenched. Eyes everywhere and unreadable thoughts drift in a palatable cloud. It’s enough to make ones skin crawl, eyebrows furrow, and mouth go dry.

Even with headphones in there’s whispers and there’s always the eyes. Left to wonder, is it ghost whispers or is it real; are they ghost eyes or are they real? Is it lack of sleep or am I perfectly awake?

Wondering what it’s like to be able to live in a bubble, unaffected. But would that have adverse effects as well? Hands and ribs and chest go numb. Lips sealed. What could I say, or more importantly what should I say. What will the eyes and whispers do if you say something wrong? Do you even want to know? No, so lips stay sealed and the whispers say silent, the eyes noncommittal.
Why does it feel like the eyes are focused on you the, whispers the voice in your head, as if you’d be important enough to hold their time and attention. You’re not are you? No definitely not, and yet why do you feel the need to claw your skin off to ease the feeling of insects and numbness.
You’re left, grey and fraying at the edges. Wondering: Is it me? Is it me? Is it me?

Photo Credit: https://www.nga.gov/>
Painting By Mark Rothko

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