When the pigs are chasing me

Can’t breathe

Can’t see

Stumble forward

Gasping for air

Like a moribund in water.

They tell you about the claustrophobia

But they never tell you about the fear

The fear

That the world has been turned upside down.

Which it hasn’t.

You stop

But they keep moving.

Flowers stab

Grass slash

Weeds garrote

You look up but really you are looking down.

“I only run when the pigs are chasing me,” said my father.

P.H. Wilder.

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