when i die at the end of the marathon, can you pretend i won the race?

—

my mind is a jumble of random capital letters

except they aren’t random, they’re words

some are italicized, some are bolded with lights too bright for me to make out the word

some of the O’s have 0’s on them, glowing 0’s that keep me biting my cheeks when i open my eyes

some days i wake up and take a word with me

smuggled in my backpack between pillows of my dreams

or i drag it down with me when the floor opens up

but set free by ink or stored back in my mind

i still dont understand

what did you ask me again?

and can you not.. can you lower your voice this time?