Woozy, Crayon Wax, Walk

Woozy

Tipping to the left
Sitting slouching drooping upright to the left
A leather car seat, streetlamps
Flitting fleeting floating
Brief windows of light, rectangular flashes of dim yellow
Palms clammy, head heavy
This is not sleep, nor will it ever be.

You laugh hearing about those students in China,
Korea, Japan.
Silly kids, why would they take their lives over a lousy grade?

But you are the same.
Always errands to run, formulas to memorize
Always at the back of your mind,
It—
In the darkest most obscure corner it is lurking there. Fact.
You can feel its roots lodging securely into the crevices of your brain
Satiated with dirt and pests and worms and deep, deep roots
In every nook, every cranny
But the day is over…

And when night falls, you feel its roots
Ripping apart growing voraciously blood pumping
Expanding extending
A creature of the night,
it sucks your brain dry, it suffocates it.
Extorting extenuating
Your mind shrivels, buckling under, as does your eyes
But not with sleep.

This is not sleep, nor will it ever be.

Crayon Wax

It’s like I don’t know what
thing (things?)
my thoughts are
made of.

It’s like
how it might feel if
you took a bath,
and only until afterwards, when you
freeze,
trapped inside of an
empty
crayon
replica of yourself,
do you realize that
you did not bathe in a tub of clear, pure water;

instead,
a tub of melted wax.

Walk

ebbing
the opaque black looks very nice very kind and it beckons
come in
come in
ebbing
come in
come in
you skitter and dodge but you love its voice
it promises good sleep and besides a thick grey fog is shrouding
everything anyway dream reality no distinction anyway so might as well and you almost do almost but then a cold diaphanous hand grazes your
shoulder it sends chills like shockwaves down your
spine it stops at your
heart its freezing so cold so cold so empty where is your

heart
no no no
stay here stay here
stay here stay here

Choice
you have your Choice and it sings in your mind
silently it pulls you back with invisible fists clenching to your dripping skin.

I guess you could call this a walk but this walk is
special because it continues
forever.

Benjamin Zou, Age 16, Grade 11, Collegiate School, Silver Key

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