It doesn’t matter where I am. There is always something poking at me. I’ll try to find somewhere else that feels more comfortable, but it follows.
Sharp. Painful. Prickles.
Nowhere feels immune.
Underneath the prickles and discomfort there is a hole. I feel as though I am disintegrating. Any connections that I’ve been able to form feel fragile.
It’s as though the world can shatter at any moment.