Sitting with my head in my knees, I feel like I could tumble forward into some galaxy of empty space, emptiness that has escaped me for the last few days. I can almost see it on the back of my eyelids: stardust in the faux-skies, purple, orange, blues, all drifting at distances I could never see myself through, even in infinite lifetimes. Light exists everywhere—here, too bright in my eyes, and there, a perfect last bit of illumination in some far-off constellation.
I can drift here, in fact I will. I will carry on head over heel, head over heel, over head, over heel, head between knees. Simple, pure light warms me as I fly; I drift ever gently forwards towards nothing. From no place do I come, and nowhere is where I go. I pick up speed, and the warmth loses me as I lose clear sight of these glowing skies. Something smashes my head, a supernova of visceral cold and equally brutal brightness: I find myself again, my eyes wide open.
. . . On the bathroom floor again.
Lying by the toilet.
YOU ARE READING
Reader's Notes
PoetryA growing collection of prose, old and new, from the teenage years: stories, passing thoughts, poetry. Mental imagery and dialogues straight from thoughts to text. Feel free to leave a comment with feedback or pointing out a small mistake somewhere...
