The Epidemic

There is an epidemic
Of old steel 
And young arms
Of thoughts inside the flesh 
Seeping to the surface
There's an epidemic of hotlines and pamphlets and therapists
But on top there's futures
Heavy as bricks
There's an epidemic of warm bodies and ice cubes
Of wrists and hairties
Of winter short-sleeves
But there are no masks
Or mandates or vaccines
For us that are sick
We find each other at school
In bathrooms and rest stops
In dm's and emails
Trading coping mechanisms like pokemon cards
Bandaging each other's arms

You are not alone
And I won't let you go
 

ZoeBee

VT

19 years old

More by ZoeBee

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  • Papercuts

    Did you know that, when you wrote me, I was made of papercuts

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