When the Hunters Try to Catch Me

I am cautious of the small things – the discovery of bruisings is a constant little hobby – I pick and pinch by body like a bully in the movies torments small kids in school hallways –

(When the hunters try to catch me, they nail mirrors to the trees – hoping I will come along and stay too long to flee)

I am nervous over toothaches and twisting-motion back-pains – I have made myself an expert on the molds that live in drains and learned to recognize the markings of a tick bite (twist of lime) and know each ragged raspy wheeze is one more lung cell cruelly dying.

(When the hunters try to catch me, they bring up money they lent me; they say they saw my ex who says she still cannot forget me – their voices bounce off mirrors that are wrapped in condensation while I stretch my neck to rid myself of the terrible sensation of numb hands)

I am worried over red eyes and raised hives and thick black circles – gaps where the synapses cannot complete their circuit in the response time allotted – I feel fine now; no more talking.

(They never ever ever ever catch me)

~ by perfectionatrix on August 14, 2013.

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