I often fear there is
water in my bones. It runs through my arms and my legs at an alarming rate, but
it is trapped. It floods my mind. There is nowhere for it to go. It is as though there’s a faucet
that has been switched off, and there is no way to turn it back on. It is impractical
to tear through delicate flesh, so I am afraid it might stay that way. But why
would something important be so inaccessible? There are locks all over town,
fencing in the roadways, which are my arteries and veins. Pins stuck through maps marking the places I’ve been, but inhibiting me from going anywhere
else. Free me of this prison.
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