first rolling, rolling
from my gut to my heart
where it bobs up and down --
turning into a silver ball
that reeks of sweaty socks
the ball melts
into a wriggling, slithering
noisy blob, hissing what-ifs to my brain
and disappears through windows.
That's what I thought. But pain doesn't disappear as easily as that. A potato may cry her eyes out, still pain will be there, bobbing up and down, drilling holes in the guts and the heart. How is it going to get out? When? Can somebody please tell me?
Potatoes suffer.
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