What now?

Celluloid Trances

I can feel the scratches unravelling something of saddening depth, as I try to claw my way out of things I have exits for. What am I doing? I’m being loud, so you can listen, I’m being silent, and so you can taste the outlines of fine print when you search for prayers, and answers here without repetitive interruptions.

I’ve pressed my chest against the hallway, and there are the blaring sounds bouncing off the walls, straight into my ears, and it seems to hurt. They’re only and always echoes. I start to fiend for the source, I push my shoulders towards the wall and my abdomen forward, I raise myself and walk freely towards the door. I walk free. As if there is no magnet in my mind that’s attracting the metallic stiffness of fucked-up daydreams, which have been washing in to make a brain beach, which I can’t…

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