Like a little bit of sandpaper
that flicks
erratically
all
over
the show
flippity-flip-flip in front of my face
and then
breaks up into several
little
pieces
and flicker-flick-flicks into my
hair and around my
ears and
past my eyes so that I have to
close them
protectively
and then I have to
close up my whole centre into a ball
and still the paper bits
flick-flutter like the snitch in Harry Potter
over my back and
threaten to cut up my back muscles
and I curl tighter
but still the cutty sandpaper scratches the air around me
"Fuck off," I say over and over
"Fuck off," screams my bolted face
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