In a Box

It’s 2:30pm and my fingers are starting to twitch. I can feel my head get stuffy.

My skin feels thirsty. Glasses come off to give my eyes a break from staring at the light box, maybe take some of the pressure off of my brain.

Heart isn’t racing, it’s pounding. Stomach isn’t empty, but it isn’t full. It’s just nothing enough to be an excuse.

Toes have gone numb and a lips are beginning to crack from over-licking.

Falling a short distance offers momentary comfort in a new environment. Leather to carpet. Carpet to rug. Rug to tile.

From overheated inside to an overheated outside. Summer hasn’t ended.

Voices continue to speak whether I acknowledge them or not. Mute. It’s 2:36pm and I’m not wearing socks.

Colorful prize bags mock me from the other couch and the voices turn to echoes.

Food. Walk. Drive. Work. Sleep.

All offer an easy escape and only one feels alright. But I still don’t have socks on.