The Crowd

All I feel is sweaty bodies.

Sticky wet bodies that have begun to consume their own clothing like trees that grow around foreign objects placed too close to them. A shirt disappears in a cloud of flesh like a pole placed in the nook of two branches.

I could imagine myself becoming one of these expansive bodies. I can feel myself tearing at my own garments from the inside. Lots of tiny cells, lots of little beings that want to get beyond their casing.

The room warps. I stare into eyes and I can't feel myself anymore. I feel outside of my self. I feel like I'm zip zapped from one world into the same world, unable to grasp the size of the room and the content of the conversation.

And then I need to move. I can't simply stand in the midst of these beautiful bodies anymore. I put a hand out in front of me. I grope everyone and everything that gets in the way of my movement. I just need to move forward. I just need to move forward.

I take a step. I feel something crunch under my bare feet. Where did my shoes go?

I take another step and the ground gets softer. I imagine myself being in a Walmart losing my fucking mind. I imagine trampling a clerk who dared to open the front door on Black Friday. I imagine my desperate need for those fucking things. I need them all. I want all your fucking Walmart shit. I want it so badly that I'm willing to forget that I'm crushing you. I want it so badly that I'm willing to eat someone's child.

I take another step and I see light changing color and shape on the skull of a giant. An enormous man that towers above this crowd. Not a single hair on his misshapen head or his slender neck. Only a delicate surface that reminds me that I'm in this room. But this shining skull holds the only hope I have.

I make my way past the giant and the ground feels like flattened paper clips. It feels like thousands of tiny lines that have been arranged for my feet alone. Thank god I'm barefoot in this room. Thank god I lost track of my shoes days ago. Thank god this crowd extends moments into days. Thank god for this fucking time.

I start crawling. I want to slip beneath the layers of people. I feel myself brushing against ankles and calves. Everyone's wonderful legs. I envy their ability to stand. Because I can't do it anymore.

I lie on my stomach and hope to be trampled. I hope to be the death of the American dream.

I spread my limbs and hope to be destroyed by powerful hungry feet. I want them to want something that badly. I hope that people want things so badly that they are willing to break my skull.

I don't ever want to escape this crowd. I want this crowd to be the death of me.