it doesn't matter how many times
i scrub my skin
with thick, bristled brushes
until i bleed.
i will never be rid of you.
it doesn't matter how many times
i move
or rearrange my room.
i can't run from you.
it doesn't matter how many times
i write
in that stupid, ratty journal
my mom gave me for my birthday.
i can never escape you.
every time i turn a new corner,
you are there.
every time i open a new door,
you are on the other side.
- S.M.
"slow suffocation"