"...twirling, twisting, contorting..."
Remain
By Oskar Leonard
Ink-black covers everything; heavy, sticky,
it weighs on my stomach like a stone. Rock.
Boulder. The immensity of the universe is
resting on my weak, little, mortal body.
Eyes peer through the murk. Hands reach out,
fingers twirling, twisting, contorting. Odd.
Flinching back, I return to the comforting,
suffocating, normalised gloom. Home--for now.
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