anxiety.

the still of the room sits near me. the desk smells of sawdust and,

well.

sawdust.

the chair is sturdy. it is made of plastic. it’s blue, dark as a nightmare. i despise blue. i don’t like it. there’s a bookshelf. and a window. the bookshelf is on the right to the window. it’s a dark mahogany. the window is at an elevation planted into the wall. the skies are, blue. blue, and cloudy. my mind cannot shape the clouds into anything. this world does not deserve adorable cloud shapes.

i have the whole world at my feet and also six feet above my head. where’s my graphing calculator?

where’s my bag?

where am i?

what

have i done.

the bookshelves are twirling

i am on my knees

dizzy

dizzy dizzy

i cannot think

thinking

the thoughts only spin.

it’s so scattered.

and loud

and quiet

everything and nothing.

what’s everything and what’s nothing?

fuckin’ shit i don’t know.

i sigh.

sawdust rests on my cheeks. it doesn’t spin. i don’t spin. the clouds float on like nothing happened.

did really anything happen?

i…

don’t know.