as though i’m being asked to pry off chunks of my unspent youth, hurl them into old age, and watch as they fizzle away, dissolved in early nights, television sitcoms, balanced meals, and accountability.

my entire body feels on the inside like it’s made of static.  of the exact moment when a videotape gets sick of pausing and stops itself, filling a room with the jarring scream of tiny, scrambling insect particles, electrically charged.  of the way grass looks as it flagellates in the wind, if you blur your vision just enough.  of the sustained crunch of ground glass underneath a boot heel.  of the roar of cold, dead air in a dark room when sleep won’t come.  of rain striking the windshield in torrents as you sit inside the car, watching thousands of drops fall shrieking to a flat, wet death, inches from your face.

just underneath my skin, i am electricity.