It started
just at the back of my neck.
It was as if
a thousand money spiders
had decided to make it their home
And so went on a pilgrimage
tracing their spindly legs
up my spine

The heat came
It was like a drum
Pounding in my eyes
And with every beat
the men threw more coal
onto the furnace
that is my chest
and closed the door

Then the feeling
that my entire body was
turning slowly to vapour.
That familiar, yet distant
feeling that you’ve always
known but never experienced.
Like a whirlpool.
Feet wobble.

I stumble.
Everything before me turns to a
Photoshop soft-focus image
Faces are airbrushed
The floor is inviting
and I need it.

I need to be on that floor
More than I need the air I breathe

So I submit.

And I fall.


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