An ambulance reels past and actually stops at a house I've never thought about. A red car, I guess. Someone inside is placed on a stretcher. Every house. Every person. This sucks.
I tiptoe around acorns, evading tiny murders. My brain sticks in the rut of patterns, every day's repetitions leaving mile-wide scars. Pull hair, pinch skin, bite lips. Broken.
At any close inspection, you can see my breaking points. Why am I writing this, I can't even hold a pen right.
All I can do is imagine the active part of myself, standing up to bullies and the ignorant masses. I sit in the library and imagine telling the talking assholes to shut the fuck up, this is a library. I grit my teeth and imagine doing it, seething and stewing in my own anger.