face tastes like a swimming pool
I think anyway, can’t quite remember right now, the actual taste a pool shouldn’t taste salty and wet anyway, it is something similar like chlorine or the adhesive from old plasters or even piss yeah this tastes as awful as that maybe why does alone feel so bad why does the fat cat sit on my chest but is afraid of water, even pool water why does it hold a screen to my face like a padded claw, like something soft and velvet
and hard and cruel
wish i could always watch the natural colourful black of the back of my eyelids when i scrunch them against chemicals and water rather than the colourful chaos of that app or thing which chemical sterilises the brain i wonder why does this silence the one in tiled utopia wave machine woggles hamster on a wheel feel
worth so much more than the silence at home on my bed
Maybe because I’m not really there in the silence, not until I cry into the dark and i stop whirring and buzzing and devolving, not until emptiness echoes with the absence of anyone
in salt or chlorine pools i stop absorbing all that stop being so surrounded by noise and myself, the same part of her that miscounts the lengths in the pool (17?)
is aware of the awfulness of this the hurt of this intruder in my hands and she is astounded but the self, the part that turns the body automatically to the next length or that chooses the stroke, she continues as robotic as the intruder itself, and by then it is time, yeah by then my face tastes like a swimming pool
again
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