There’s a big rock and it’s on top of me, and I can’t dance because if I do my organs might slip out from underneath me and then the rock would crush me.
You’re grinding down on me and the air I’m breathing is warm and wet on my face and inside my mouth and I know that there is smoke and all Bacardi and your sweat is clinging to my clothes and my hair and inside my lungs, tucked inside my alveoli. and my chest is full of water. and I’m worried that it might burst and all the water would pour everywhere. and my skin feels slippery. and my chest is full of water. I can’t hear the music anymore. But that doesn’t stop it from making my brain vibrate, making my ears crust over, making my fingers glow, making my eye bulbs pop. I wanted to reach out and touch your hand, but it just slippery slid out of my grip. I’m trying to swallow my saliva, but it has turned all pointy like a nettle, crunching down my throat.
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AuthorI write stories, but sometimes I write poetry about the slippery and crunchy moments in life. Archives
July 2023
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