I pull open a drawer by the sink. I can’t. Open my eyes.
The red liner, it’s not quite flat in the drawer. Open. My eyes.
Under the liner. There’s something. Underneath. Moving. I can’t.
Something living. Moving, moved. I can. I can’t. Feel it. Open.
Cockroaches? Mice? Melding spiders? My eyes. Can’t.
I throw cold water. At my face. Push. Pull at my eyes.
But I can’t. They won’t. Open. Open, my eyes.
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