A Distant Symphony

There’s this tiny space inside me. It has a tiny door with a button handle. A button you’d sew on a shirt. It was a fancy gold one. Round and shiny. I could hear music playing from the other side so I got on all fours and placed my ear right up against it. The music didn’t grow louder it stayed as distant but I could see flickers of light dancing just below the door. Then the smell of cookies and gasoline and cupcakes and charcoal intertwined in my nostrils. It was conflicting but curious. There was only one way to solve this. I had to turn the gold button knob and open the door to that tiny place inside me.

Intellect

The words to save me are trapped inside my lungs. Yes, I have them, but my lack of intellect has shoved them into place. It’s not the intellect itself that I lack it’s the motivation to use it. Words words words they’re art. They’ve got meaning even without intellect. See. Who needs to think.

-Saschia Johnson

 

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