Drabbles

4

Finicky, plucky strings of abstract nonsense crumble in my head.

The bloom and snap into place, making the overmorrow screaming rattle, and then stop.

They don't help for all too long, but they build up into their own little palace and order my body to do it's bidding,

My hands are withering and my appetite is hard to appease when it's made out of nausea and nonsensical arguments,

"I'm scared." I tell to a gone father, and a sleepless mom.

"I know." They say as they grab the filament and crush it into correct formations,

If not so, they altogether make it crumble, or worse, watch as it breaks itself and swallow down tiny petals of euphoria to survive.

My body is shaking, the framework of it is cracking.

I'm so scared.