junk drawer

in her mind.  

everything just piled up.

paths worn from room to room.

her head burned

thoughts loomed

she wanted fresh air.

she wanted her body not to be a trap.

“limbs like wings” she grinned – why not

not limbs like chains.

milky nerves, supple brains 

she got locked onto things

longing gave into daydreaming

repetition to more repetition

familiarity

certainty

“was I hear before”?

I swear I’ve seen this place

angellameanix.co

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