Today I feel nauseous. A dance is being performed inside my stomach. Many hands are climbing up my throat. A projectile dance. I am shaking. I am swinging. I am singing my fears. We are the hopeless lovers… Why do I search for kindness in fictitious eyes? Why do I long for comfort in a distant embrace? I think of a kiss. Nauseous. Hopeless lover. I spit. I scratch myself bloody. My joints lock in place, and energy burns in my elbows. There is no outlet. No outlet. None. Hopeless lover, distant lover, feel my burns.