fingers on the glass. it’s raining, again. and i want to throw up for no apparent reason.

and maybe this is what the future means. i don’t know.

i remember being ten. i remember when all of this felt so far off in the distance.  a vague cartoon of the world i live in. and maybe that’s horrible. but i still miss it.

i remember reading the news. and how it’s almost always bad. how some days, it just feels like the world is coming to an end.

how static whispers through my head. and i close my eyes. and i let myself drown in it.

I live in Canada, and I wrote this poem the night of our election–October 21st. I was feeling really anxious about it, and I guess–this helped a bit.