So long as I focus on you,
this book,
these words I write,
the song,
my pillow,
the movie,
I won't notice the room spinning around me.
Constantly moving.
Not just the people,
or the sounds,
or the chores.
But it all.
The room spins and spins and spins.
At least I don't get dizzy.
Sometimes the walls collapse, but before I know it, everything's repaired.
If I just close my eyes, I won't notice.
I won't remember,
But the stupid voice inside,
my brain,
my thoughts,
they're unconnected from the rest of it all.
Like a protected enemy, locked up inside of my head.
"remember this"
"remember what he said"
"remember how they treated you"
"remember what you did"
We all have one.
Does anyone know if it comes with a volume remote?
The monster surrounds my head so tight I can't breath, soon enough it's not the world that's spinning, but me instead.
Like falling down a tunnel
trapped so tight.
I'm lost and I can't breath,
but my enemy has informed me that I'm going to die.
Probably very soon.
I want to scream but I can't wake the others.
I'm not infected, I'm not sick,
I'm not anything but a bag of bones and organs.
That's youth.
That's the spinning world.
Am I spinning or the world?
Maybe I'm backwards.
Or maybe the world's upside down.
Maybe we're all upside down.
I am thoroughly unsure of everything, and properly churned up.
But, I'm not dead.
And, the earth is always spinning.
Always.
So maybe, if I slow down.
Then maybe
Maybe everything else will too.
