There’s nothing more exhilarating

Than hiding in the closet

While the guards search for you, saying things like,

“Where are you?”

“Come out!”

“We’ll kill you when we find you!”

And the whole time I’m hiding in the closet

--

--

A cart stops and a voice shouts.

“Why are the gates closed?”

Through the rain warbles a distant response. It’s difficult to hear. The audio repeats.

“Why are the gates closed?”

An arrow sips through the air into the neck of the man on the cart. He falls off the side.

A hand reaches out from behind a barrel, and removes the coinpurse from the corpse.

--

--

September has a mechanical air. September has a retreating edge. September has a hood over her eyes. September has a bag full of trash found scavenging. September has no concept of ‘too far’. September ate rat poison by accident. September wishes she had checked the map one more time. September…

--

--

I don’t currently have access to my sexuality. I’ve been moving, in my mind. And I put down a box, in order to place another box on top of it, to free up my hands to carry two more down the hall, which I dropped to answer the door, and by now down down down the hallway: Boxes. I try to open the door to my sexuality, and it just hits a box. I try to move that box to gain myself room, and it hits another box. I pick up that box, to make room, and now I can’t see the floor. If I were to move from here, I’d trip on the pile of boxes from earlier. So I set it down, and head back up up up the hallway and sit on the bench at the park.

--

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