A drop of the stomach, like a falling anchor, preventing my lungs from fully inflating.
A rock, sitting there, growing slowly into a burdensome weight.
A fluttering up and around, almost like a trembling heat, a wash of hot bath water and burning ears, clouded thoughts like a muggy sky
The window is open.
Just the curtain is closed.
A simple pencil sharpener.
Or steel wool.
Sometimes even a paper clip.
Fingernails, a mechanical pencil, a broken mirror
Brings about more than seven years of bad luck in one moment.
In the darkness,
Melting plates of earth
Into hot lava, forming pockets.
A white blanket of snow suppresses the flowing red into a dry crust.
Brown dust settles, covering the ruptured land, and then is removed, when all is calm, to reveal a scarred earth.
