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.