you claw at the air, at the ceiling you’ve always had trouble reaching. you swallow the silence and spit out white noise. it somersaults against the cold tile like a used up firework. you cut yourself on the pages of newly printed books, so it’s easier for the words to soak into your bloodstream. you’re searching for the girl he fell for, but she’s not here, she’s out to dinner with your conscience again. but you’re so hungry, so you take a bite of your heart and another one until there’s nothing left to feed your feelings.