Harriet Rose

I do not like the feeling.

I do not like the feeling,

I do not like the feeling of you.

I do not like the feeling of how your body next to mine,

Feels like a death sentence.

I do not like the feeling,

I do not like the feeling of almost.

Of almost death,

Of almost love,

Of almost sleepless nights,

Of almost suffocating in your arms.

I do not like the feeling,

I do not like the feeling of being swept under a rug.

Like some sort of dust nobody wants,

I do not like the feeling of irrelevance.

I do not like the feeling,

I do not like the feeling of being less than you,

Of you laughing because you think you know me.

I swear I heard them hiss,

Like snakes hiding under the weight of their dysfunctions.

I do not like the feeling of their words.

I do not like the feeling,

I do not like the feeling of you.

I do not like the feeling of your skin stretched over your bones,

Creaking music of decay.

I do not like the feeling,

I do not like the feeling of the universe being so vast,

That we cannot shout into it,

Because I have been told my screams can’t travel through a vacuum.

Why did we think to explore it when we can’t shout for help,

When it inevitably goes wrong.

Because everything goes wrong at some point.