Grey Metal hands slap you in the back,
Breaking your perfect posture,
Letting your trust to whatever invisibility that is behind You to fall through cracks of misinterpretation.
Any sound following your ears,
You understand as a warning,
And twitch without even noticing,
from pure conscious experience.
And then,
They believe that the round bruises of round figures circled down your spine and skin were created by unfortunate accidents.
You have always been a pain in softball,
Running towards the ball and then suddenly turning away from it just as you approach its spinning force,
Over and over again.
Yes, sure.
But metal spoons beating you and beating you harder the louder you scream as you approach the computer screen?
Never.
It's all in your head!
But the bruises stay there to prove it.