maybe its ok, to slip into the dark bar and settle in the back
among the discarded lip-smudged glasses, maybe i won’t get high
today or intake egregious amounts of CBD to calm my catapulting stomach, maybe
there is nothing wrong with the quiet, possibly, since the eyes always
stick to my skin, like roving centipedes I can feel everyone coming after me
maybe I’d be safer at home, among the dream-soiled pillows and second-skin
blankets, there is strength in the solitude, or is there? my only friend, my pet would know, would they?
I am strong in my sequestered life, still life, as I freeze in the headlights of all
these strangers staring at me.
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