Soft Animal

Allison Marie Conway

What is wrong with me that I don’t believe. That I refuse to see what is right in front of me. I don’t remember at all the girl I was before. It is as though my brain were gauze, wrapped up like a wound in cotton bandages and tape.

You know what is the most exhausting feeling? The second guessing of every single goddamn thing. The madness of circling around and around in the mind without relent and in the end never getting anywhere. Scrambling like a rodent down into a bottomless hole.

It’s growing dark out as you start touching me. A finger along the throat. I wish I could say I feel something but to be honest, I really don’t. My bones are liquid metal. My skin aches for nothing in particular, not even this. The sickness in the pit of me which snakes about the rib cage…

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