(no subject)
my house is shaking.
they're digging a hole in my backyard and the walls are shuddering. the floor is trembling. it sounds like a giant yellow machine is about to tear down the frame that has sheltered my few ratty belongings and me for the last nine months. the ground is being tore up for a new sewage line.
and inside, i am waiting for the ground to collapse. the dirt piled up on top of dirt to begin trickling, then slipping, then rushing in on itself to fill the unnatural space that has been carved out of the earth. sometimes it feels inevitable that it should happen that way: an accident, before the impermeable steel walls have been erected, the walls that exist to hold back the weight of this world that is always pushing inward, falling and at the same time righting itself.
once a living thing has been swallowed in this way, it is so hard, so damn near impossible, to unearth it with its life intact. and so i hope to god these walls hold up.
they're digging a hole in my backyard and the walls are shuddering. the floor is trembling. it sounds like a giant yellow machine is about to tear down the frame that has sheltered my few ratty belongings and me for the last nine months. the ground is being tore up for a new sewage line.
and inside, i am waiting for the ground to collapse. the dirt piled up on top of dirt to begin trickling, then slipping, then rushing in on itself to fill the unnatural space that has been carved out of the earth. sometimes it feels inevitable that it should happen that way: an accident, before the impermeable steel walls have been erected, the walls that exist to hold back the weight of this world that is always pushing inward, falling and at the same time righting itself.
once a living thing has been swallowed in this way, it is so hard, so damn near impossible, to unearth it with its life intact. and so i hope to god these walls hold up.