Page 35 - Solstice Art & Literary Magazine 2020
P. 35
COMPULSION
LISA SU
Crowds of filth meandered along the cream colored halls Hands whispered soft secrets to one another
Coughs kissed midair, heated breaths mingling
close enough that cherry chapstick no longer smelled of common artificial strawberries
Another box of cotton wipes for another day
Lungs gasping for air, I coughed
Staring at the bright fluorescent label of the pungent wipes, I felt comforted
it’s components warmed me
my freezing fingertips no longer seemed so cold
my sense of true warmth had left, leaving me numb Acidic, it read
Shaky hands wobbled on the thin piece of pitiful printer paper
harsh lines soon began to streak the paper, the demons took over once sanity
had run its lap
Math had never been so hard
One wobbly square after another decorated the trash bin
Where did you put your keys?
definitely not in the woven basket exactly two footsteps away from the entrance
Did you really say that?
she didn’t seem all that upset when I asked for her to rewrite the essay in black
ink instead of blue What happened to—
Stop
Stop it
Stop thinking
stop cursing yourself
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