• Flux Magazine

"Glass Jar" by Tyler Zeanah

the dark circles beneath my eyes are tie-dyed cerulean blue. i don’t plant flowers in my eyelashes anymore, i only know how to pick them and leave them on the graves of things i once loved, but have now forgotten how to. i am existentially tired. i mean, i don’t know how to wake up anymore. life is hibernating and carrying on, all one in the same breath. how do you know which you’re doing more of, the living or the dying? no one knows what season it is, the smoke is too thick to see through to the other side. sleep sits perched in my throat, weighing down my words before i have a chance to mold them. before i can explain it right. this is the year of unspeakability. i’m falling up as i try to move forward, each step woozy and begging for a tether to the floor, a lifeline to the living. the air is heavy with resistance, a push to the pull, rip tides against bare skin. the world caving away around my feet, as i sink deeper into uncertainty. i’m treading water in my kitchen, chin barely above the surface of it all. but, i’m tired of swimming in circles. i’m tired of sloshing inside these four walls, folding in on myself over and over. a tsunami in a glass jar. i open my eyes each morning and take a deep gulp of water before the air can find a path to my lungs. i am still not awake. just upright and swimming through the eye of the storm. 



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