The Ant’s Panic

This cant be real.

Everything is spinning and standing still all at once. I am overcome with anxiety, but I cannot feel my heart racing. I am dreaming about people that don’t exist and having conversations with things that aren’t quite there. Memories are rushing back, Madison Jean, my 4th birthday, English class, pine tree allergy, walking from corner to corner, asking my mother what an orgasm was because I had heard it on some cheap, tawdry, drama about high school teens, but I’m detached from the feelings that are in junction with them. Everything can’t be moving this slowly.

I need a music box.

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