(Here is another prose poem. Not an oxymoron, more like a pleasant contradiction thats easy to swallow...)
Someone told me once that time freezes when you receive news you've been dreading.
Wrong.
Instead a chisel appears to start breaking your surface, banging away until it finds the sweet spot where the crack spreads and you shatter to the floor. Everything around you promptly shatters to reveal a scene beneath it that is more dull and less in focus that a mere moment ago. The lack of clarity is fear you've been carrying around, finally making its debut, physically manifesting just in time to fuck your day up.
Hopefully you thought ahead enough to get a quick breath in before breaking, otherwise the breaths feel as jagged as the shapes you've become on the floor.
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