Sitting in the shower, letting the water hit me where it hurts, my body looks like a sound wave on its side, a rippling mess of mass. I’m warm, the water is too but that’s not it, my blood feels slow, like molasses, I feel weighed down but I’m doing it to myself, I’m the one sitting in the bathtub letting the water hit me. It’s my hand on the trigger. It’s my hands around my neck.

I’m a difficult person. I don’t make small talk, and I’m perfectly happy being a room with someone, someone I don’t know very well and thus could open them up and read them like a book, maybe just the first chapter, hell, maybe even just the first page, but I don’t. I’m perfectly happy not knowing them. I don’t care about what their book is about, I’ve decided I’m not gonna buy it. I’m not even in the bookstore. I’m in the car, in the parking lot across the street, inside a box, inside of a bubble, with headphones on, blindfolded.

Out of the shower, take a proper amount of NyQuil so that I can fall asleep and stop being so warm, so weighed down. In dreams I'll be lighter than air. Maybe I’ll sleep naked? No, that’s fucking stupid. I’m definitely leaving the window open though, so that I can hear the midnight howl the soundtrack to my thoughts alone, in the dark.