The world is too loud
sometimes.
I encase myself
in protective
plastic bubble,
am immune in
own-ness.
Dull life-thuds
surround me/bubble,
pound pound
plastic--
persistently punitive.
Sounds like:
questions asked
from human units—
bubble answers
for me,
forms collective
words
previously approved
by (at-the-moment,
non-present)
brain.
Cannot escape forever.
Such is sadness
and way
of being human.
Break bubble,
come clean,
awash myself
in (waiting?) world
again.
I do not know
if they
even know:
I have
been
fully
un-present.
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