the kids
are about to
leave and
all three of
us vibrate
with anxiety
as the bubble
the last week
and a half
us from the
real world
quivers as
the thin
membrane is
at the verge


they return
to school and
the stress of
back to reality
i lose my
focal point
barely keeping
me from the
next breakdown
as the world
goes quiet for
a fresh eternity

false smiles
each tick
of the clock
sounds like
a gunshot
as we flinch
in a frozen
portal peering
into individual
hells shared
like static
in painful
sparks that
blister in
little traumas

little pockets
of anxiety
bubblewrap in
the hands of a
neglectful god

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