My face is hot and my hands are numb.
I scratch at my forehead as if it removes the repugnant thoughts I think.
How can they think this is okay?
How can anyone think that this is okay?
My stomach turns over and the juice sloshes around. It is acidic and burns.
My breathing is shallow, and I try to control my lungs.
If I think too hard about breathing I forget how, and I feel like I’m drowning.
I scratch at my arms and I feel closed in.
The streets are full of people. They all want something.
They are in my personal space. My private space.
A red paper dragon flutters by my ear.
The sound is invasive and spreads into my healthy tissue.
Just a little pain will clear my mind.
Knuckles pressed into my thighs.
Slight red marks on my arms.