sorry bud. it was bound to happen eventually.
something like a prick,finding me as if i were a human pin cushion,
it took me elsewhere.
something like a flame, licking my lungs and tickling my throat,
ignited my subconscious.
something brand new,
a feeling, so luscious and golden,
kept me coming back.
yet the pins had me leaving drips of blood everywhere i went.
the flame singed that valley where all the thoughts lived
i was forced to hide deep in the rabbit’s hole.
where the raw burning smell crept in on me still.
when the icy storm came out of nowhere.
i crawled out,
back out in the valley, the quiet valley,
that took on the aftermath of the blizzard in my head.
everything once living,
was now frozen and dead.
— Anne Frank (via egosolus