On an unfrosted storefront window, I seized a glimpse of my own reflection. The dimmed-lighted shop, acting as an unwitting mirror, attracted my deflection. As I move toward the glass, I failed to grasp, in terror, my delicate profile.
My head, melting as a watery modelling clay, carved from my feminist disarray, fell before the civilization I was trying to reconcile.
My soggy clothes didn’t warn pedestrians, nor did my obvious lack of capacity. I’m leaking on the sidewalk, through the street, but nobody, in a blink of lucidity, I’m leaking in the parking lot, through the seat, but nobody.
About the Creator
Beatrice
I'm a multidisciplinary artist and web sleuth.
Day 4 of Quitting
If this is how sobriety feels, maybe it’s better to go through life a little buzzed… this, along with other hits like, I want to kill myself, I wish I was dead, and I’m going to throw myself off a bridge have been the only thoughts on rotation these past few days. I promise myself that if, in a month, I still feel like this (‘this’ meaning despondent, full of rage, and simultaneously numb) I can go back to smoking. Until mid-February though? Nicotine is off the table.
By sleepy drafts6 days ago in Longevity
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