prosetry from my consistently relapsed one hundred words a day project
things are always breaking inside of you. your throat is an unnavigable desert, all scorched earth and gouged ground, and your ears crackle and fade like cheap headphones. strings in your head sing as they’re pulled tight and begin to vibrate, higher and higher, building up a discordant hum that ends in a thunderclap of snapping. it echoes down through your muscles, shaking your eyes open. you stare at the wall and try to will them to close for a few hours. there’s a pressure in your bones like they’re all about to burst. you kind of wish they would.