burrowing deep into your flesh.
marking their territories red and gray and black, with pus and blood and god-knows-what-bodily fluids.
popping up from everywhere when you open your eyes at 10 o'clock in the morning when the sun has long been frying your room.
... as if you needed them to colour your life!
aching muscles. swollen. red lump. you run your fingers across. it screams at you. unintelligible but nonetheless clear and bright as your salesman's newly-polished shoes. penetrating and sucking oxygen off your brain.
unexplained dizziness. fucking up with your mind. you think the city is trembling and you look at your cup of coffee to confirm. it's trembling. you look around, but everybody's quiet, unmoving. you question yourself. you eat your thoughts and force them down your throat to remain in the deepest bowels and core of your being.
you swallow your saliva and taste the creaminess of your tongue. four Sundays since, it's still creamy. like a nagging thought that forces itself in your conscious. it wants to say something but plans to stay indecipherable.
how do you live like this?
