Mesolimbic Pathway

S. K. Nicholas


When she feels the air in her lungs tighten, she grabs her crayons and draws the animals she sees in her dreams and then ladyparts and skeletons reaching up to the clouds from the dull ground below. When she drinks her wine, she feels a little easier in her skin, and sometimes, when she focuses on the good stuff leaving the bad shit to sink, she touches herself until her body is filled with electricity and there’s nothing but the eye of God that exists deep inside of her somewhere between her heart and her spine. There are so many colours and so many words, and when she bites and chews the air around her mouth, they flash behind her eyelids like she’s in the middle of a lightning storm and then she becomes the storm, and she loses her form, and all that’s left is pure energy. When she comes…

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