Internet Fantasies

Sometimes I want to drown in my sorrows.

I’ll tip my head back and let the dew of the grass cascade over me, trickling down my neck, right into the base where my clavicles draw sharp trenches; I’ll let sunshine soak into my skin and bleach my hair the different colours of heart-break.

Sometimes I want to sleep.

I want to sleep for an eternity, to sleep when the elections are over and when Trump has stepped down from his makeshift thrown of fallacies; I want to lay my head upon a goose-feather pillow and run my bruised cheek along the satin cover and swallow down the jarring edges of sleeping pills and fall into an illuminated world of my own, letting shreds of sanity scatter far, far away underneath the bed.

 

Sometimes I want to cry.

I want to let salt water fall from my eyes and hit the surface of my study-table in misshapen shapes; warped pearls and cylinders of dried caramel and chips of cinnamon, all translucent, watery figures that hold breaths of sadness and whispers of remorse. I want these tears to sear tracks of guilt down my cheeks and cement the shaky feeling in my heart as it shivers, like a coward, against my rib-cage.

 

Sometimes I want to leave.

I think about it for a while this time, cutting all the flowery words and silver-strung sentences, forgoing punctuation and the irking corners of commas–

and I do just that.

I open the door and I step outside and then I close it.

 

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