slow locked up.
sloughing skins off myself and sitting in the debris of my personal negligence.
a discovery of new smells.
sweet oily hair and the sour of uncleaned armpits.
there is no need to neaten or to wash off my shame.
surrounded by screens and distant voices but still, I speak to my reflection.
no judgment here.
how bad can it get?
©kinomalek
K