this being does not want the infinite-collection-of-beings-known-as-drew to read them aloud

they want you to

content warning
raw
possibly bleak

you hold my heart in your hand

squeezing, crushing, closing

constricting. You do not let go

I feel it. Pinning me down.

I cannot move. I cannot try.

I cannot move mountains, either.

It is the same. Why try

only to fail.

That would be to hope.

And that is far too difficult

far too dangerous.

Better to lie here.

Still.

—twentyseven may twothousandzerohundredstwentythree