gimme a toothpick

There are things stuck. Pieces, small pieces I can’t get to. In my eye – a soft, small, invisible hair. In my teeth – a sliver of onion from the pizza I just ate. It’s always that small space between my teeth where things get stuck – the skin of apples mostly. I want quick satisfaction. Quick words to fill me. I don’t want to take my time right now. I can’t take my time right now. I want to feel something, take a pill, make it quick.

When it was warm outside I could find a place to go. No music, no human, helpless, humdrum noise. Where can I go in the winter to feel warm and quiet at the same time? Everything is an interruption and I have something stuck that I can feel, that I can’t get to yet. And now my leg is twitching like I don’t even know because I can’t get to it.

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