There are a million sounds in a day
They peel the layers back and grate at
My buttery tissues
And tensed plexuses
I’m always tasting the air like a snake
Curling into a tight, head-tucked, question mark
Why is the world so pressing?
So urgent that it can’t leave me any
Air
Or
Space
It has to break the skin
And get in
Get in
Katzcrunch 