Can’t seem to find the right

The small trickle of blood from the left hand’s second knuckle, uncompromising in its color, drips drops down to the speckled brown carpet. I feel lightheaded, the insides of me swish around in themselves. My stomach is unsettled, uncomfortable. Dark red hands as the postman sings softly to himself “Baby I miss you today.” My seat back is rigid and I am constantly yawning. Pictures paint themselves in my head, pictures of me, and sometimes I am happy and sometimes I am alone. My eyes shift, blur, heavy eyes. Delusions like sulfur, stinking to high heaven, signs of fire, the volcano. There is smoke in my eyes. The Platters sing under water and I think I feel their pain. But empathy is a fool’s game.