a whole ocean filled with floating paper masks lies before you and a whole ocean filled with un-bodied refuge-seeking hands lies behind and the land on which your feet find rest is slowly dipping in, saying:
you have been too comfortable and that is not real life and this is real life now
you do not even have to take the step forward into oceans. there is no step to take. your ankle is in tepid water and salt seeps into a cat scratch on your shin.
the people around you are swimming breaststrokes between un-bodied hands and paper masks and their refrain is, "when did this become real life?"
"when did this become real life?"
water seeps between strands of your hair. it is hard to think clearly anymore.
you can message me with anything: questions, review requests, rants are you a green room knight yet? have you read this week's Squills?
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