And Maybe the Globe, Itself, Is a Myth

I said, this reminds me of the Twilight Zone episode when global temps get so hot for so long that the remaining survivors all go mad. And I still retain the image of paint melting off of a canvas and a woman screaming with her hands on her face.

This also reminds me of days and days of snow. A heat trap. If I escape, I again find my refuge in the supermarket, in front of rows of white milk cartons. Let me fall to my knees and press my cheek to the tile.

My entire body weeps: I watch sweat form in tiny beads at every pore. I didn't know I could melt away, like snow.