I think I died in my (brief, brief) sleep and now I’m in hell. I feel like roadkill and I’m sat in a fast food joint ten feet from some guy watching a talk show on his phone with no headphones and smacking and chewing so loud I can hear him over the general din of a fast food joint.
Published by Holly (she/her)
Holly is a poet, essayist, and immigrant who writes about feminism, politics, and Elvis. Her prose has been featured in several Medium publications and she is a co-host of The Art House’s Moving Voices open mic night. View all posts by Holly (she/her)
Published