I've been told that the breath is the
only way to fight back the rising
surge of panic that builds up
in my throat but the displacement of
air around my body is only
one aspect of breathing the sheets wrap their white
linen arms around my throat and threaten to
smother me but I promised my
self I'd stay in bed even if the
vast monotony of January
hibernation comes to drag me through
winter cracks in the pavement but it's four
in the morning and I'm wandering around
my house and there's no one here to tell me
it'll all be okay my repeated trips to the refrigerator
punctuated with disappointment when I find that
no more food has appeared there in the last five
minutes I settle for nutella on toast an
easy dish I've grown accustomed to making in the
darkness and when the sun rises I
put on my brightest dress and
hope the polka dots will distract from the fact that
I haven't washed my hair in six days and I've eaten enough
food for ten people this week and
that I'm rapidly beginning to
look more and more like negative space

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