asia feels confused. trips up the damp-struck street halfway running. stops. she doesn't know what life is supposed to sound like when there's so much less to be afraid of. the gas stove. shaving her legs in the shower. the chains around the necks of the neighbor's dogs. asia feels confused and tries to get lost in too well worn ranges. but there's nowhere to go. no more razor-blade rage. allowed. there's the deliberate walk to home. and how many steps to the part with the door. the dull click of the key in the lock. to knob the creak of feet on the floor. and she could cry or sleep. scream and scream at nothing. but happiness says she shouldn't. so she won't. she sits silent still. drawing bright stupid visceral seams. to keep everything in from spilling all over out.


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