There’s a part of me screaming. It’s a miniature version of myself, inside my old apartment, inside my ribcage, screaming. There’s no sound, because there’s no one there to hear it; and besides, my body is soundproof.
I’m in Tel Aviv. I’m trapped.
I left; I’m free now.
Take me back to the party. Pass me a joint, a beer, a bobo, a pill, I’ll take whatever you’ve got and love it more than life itself. Play that music loud as fuck and look out the window at people passing by, wishing they were invited. I was invited; I politely decline.