embryo

i never knew i could disappear so completely. keep my head down. work hard, and fast. retreat into myself; play dead if necessary.

so i let my breathing slow to nothing. answer in simple yeses and nos. don’t disagree, don’t elaborate, goodbye and hello. shove my hands in my pockets, and cross the street with my head held low.

so i lock the door, and curl up like a little embryo. i won’t make a sound, just drown myself in sharp lavender tea. live off leftovers for weeks.

i sip my coffee, and watch january waves lap against my bare feet. wear flannels and sweaters like armour, and give you just what you asked for. cardboard and sweet.

but now my fingers are callused. i tick off boxes on blue paper and cry, cry, cry, because god i miss the waiting room. but you hate the sound, of course you do.

so i shut my mouth with scotch tape. it burns a bit, and the adhesive never sticks. my lips taste like school glue.

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