rs 127.

i read about this somewhere, i swear it. the things we skim over in aisles of shopping centers, static of radios, monotone metronomes of adverts we care nothing about. but yet, it grips me now, where it barely fluttered across my senses before.

i’m attached to something by a cord of foriegn material that i’m becoming allergic to. this rash appearing on my ashen skin is going to be the death of me if i don’t warm up soon. chill me.

maybe it’s simply gossip and hearsay again. boiling points only change as the elevation rises and falls, and i’m floating up and sinking down a little too often now. diffusion of air around me, now, it floats and hums in the wayside. i can hear the solace in your movements down my path, but trust me, you can’t disturb me, now.

i’m eating a hot dog with too much mustard. this tang caught in my throat isn’t decaying.

i wonder if i am?