I’m okay with it, at least that’s the story

i’m committed to writing. i’ve made peace with whatever is to become of me, of us, of the entire planet.

that’s why you won’t see me twist or hear me shout, at least

not in the context in which i used to.

because i’ve had my fill of twists. at this point, i’ve done it more than all the pretzels in the world combined. and i’ve shouted more times than

can be recorded in human history. and you know where it’s gotten me? absolutely

nowhere. your car is still on fire and the extinguisher is nowhere to be found. the quicksand continues to pull you

down and there are no branches in sight.

you’re buried alive and all shovels have ceased to exist.

good thing you come with a handle