#mossy-man

[mossy-man]

it’s rained so much these past few days, you can see the earth breathe.

the moss seems to rise and fall, like a heaving chest- like it’s tired and simply taking a moment to catch its breath.

you haven’t seen it do that in a while.

[mossy-man]

it hums. and sings. and buzzes. at the back of your mind. like a bee. like the rhythm of that one song you haven’t heard in years. from one ear to the other. from one corner of the starless void to the space behind your skull that you can’t quite reach. it won’t go away.

you've tried scratching at the itch at the base of your neck. at the dip of your collarbone. at the curve of your hip. you think they might be her’s.

the woman you see in the mirror. blurry and out of focus. like an old tv. tucked behind your shoulder. watching you with eyes that sometimes remind you of your mother’s. then your own. then they’re unfamiliar. sunken into her head like your feet in the mud after a long rain.

you’d hated it at first, but now she visits so often that she can almost be considered your roommate. but you still aren’t fond of the itching and buzzing. or the blood dripping from the walls when you drift to sleep. or the feeling of paralysis when you open your eyes every morning.

to see her staring at you from the foot of your bed.