Sawyer Sussner

the trials and tribulations of walking home in a binder

91
i am trapped in a locked car in a parking lot
sweltering but fighting
banging on the windows
screaming between labored breaths and
out of air.
i rub my chest,
a sweeping palm
that carves a swath from my left peck to my right.
people pass me
but i’m not sure if i pass them
and i hope my foot doesn’t catch and i collapse
because then they’d call an ambulance
and they’d have to use scissors cut it off

92
my earbuds are in
but the notes are as clear
as they would be if i sat outside the venue
waiting on the curb stop
for them to let me in.
they mix with the ringing
demanding in the way a child is
but i can hear so
i haven’t fallen yet

93
the other side of the bridge shakes and swims
and i’m sure that the concrete is melting beneath me.
it has already crystallized into my stomach
and filled my lungs with poison
and sits in my veins, weighing heavy on my legs.
i hold the railing.
impossibly
my leg lifts again

94
i shiver as i feel a bead of sweat
weave between the bumps of my spine.
it disappears somewhere
in the fabric of the elastic
wrapped tightly around my chest.
deep breaths.
i expand my lungs to the best of my ability
but they stay strapped where i left them
thrashing against my rib cage,
two babies tangled in a blanket.

95
the realization swells in me where air should be.
i recognize the trees and the buildings
not quite home, but close.
this does not count as walking.
my legs sink with every step
until i am waist deep in the concrete.
i use my upper body for momentum up the stairs
the neighborhood averts its eyes from my display

72
i don’t remember how many times
the keys slipped from my fingers
but it takes two hands to fit the key into the lock
and somehow, i make it inside.
it’s not enough.
with the help of the railing
i drag my corpse up the stairs and burst through my door.
i think my roommate is there
someone waves to me.

72
TAKEITOFFTAKEITOFFTAKEITOFFTAKEITOFF!!!!!!
I do.
The sweat stains drag all the way down the sides.
The thing is soaked through.
I’m shaking
But it’s off.
I throw on a sports bra,
A concession of defeat,
And for a second I just look at the cold, damp mess
That now hangs from my fingertip
Over the sink.
In my grip, it looks like the human skin shed by an alien,
Well used, if not a little discolored.
And now that I am cool, I think
I can put it back on now. Besides, it’s not even that hot out.