rounded corners

eyes that separate her from her destiny at the edge of the table
the dull ache in her head is fading faster than she’d like.
flitting from her shaking hands on her knees to the averted gaze
to the smudges on the wall
there is a quiet, and someone is speaking, someone kind.
in a flurry of encouragement and love, there is a blazing focus, one that comes out hesitantly
hearing it, she is paralyzed. the next few moments are torture,
maybe for both of them. time moves in slow motion.
her fists clench, not enough to hurt herself. they go from her knees to the air.
her teeth grit, and they are itching to part, they are just waiting
down the fists go, a muted bang, shifting her body barely to the side
parting, she feels something force its way through her lungs, animalistic and worthless
in that moment, she does not hear or see- her world narrows to the space inside her own head.
still, her lips are parted, teeth gnashing at every syllable of hateful nonsense. she stares at the ground.
she’s going to fall. she wants to fall. her eyes meet the corner of the nearest table, and it is rounded.
they’d stop her if she tried. the closest she gets is her own fists
which come up to feverishly bash at her own head,
and then quickly stop as her eyes flit further up.
the barrel focuses on another, and her hands are splayed to cover her filthy mouth
roaring quiets to a tittering murmur of shame, of sorry, sorry, i’m sorry i shouldn’t have-
gaze down in horror. her eyes flit all the way down to the table’s corner again. it is still rounded.
maybe they wouldn’t be able to stop her if she was fast and purposeful.
the corner is rounded.
the rest of the edges are sharp.