Static

I count all my hair, 
stinging with electricity, 
ozone on my sleeve. 
A peat bog with water waist deep, 
moss on down the halls. 
Bouncing a voice long gone, 
“How do we breathe?” 
Escaping as we speak. 

Beautiful words confine me, 
a misery of mystery. 
Restless at the seams. 
A prison so lost friends won’t find me. 
How does this compare? 
Another kind of exposure. 

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