I’m… what do they call it?

Crawling up the walls?

I think I have cabin fever, for my life.

I can hardly stand the constraints of my own skin for much longer.

I want to stretch it and tear it till I’m free.

Till I can gulp down air

And I can feel the rain 

But not rain, the warm sun rays.

I ache to stretch like that irresistible urge to scratch an itch that feels inside your bone–

Entirely impossible to achieve without getting bloody.

I just listened to Prokofiev: Romeo and Juliet, Op.64 and imagined the beautiful slow motion explosion of the earth and everyone in it. 

I don’t imagine that’s normal.

Perhaps it is.