Ants Die on Hardwood Floors

Trees offer you plenty of oxygen to flourish, but you don’t. You’re waiting for the perfect moment to be repaired, to become desirable. By that time, you’ll be buried. How many people were good to you that you let go?

Ants don’t enter your home so that they’ll decompose. You slice your hand and pretend it was unexpected. This is your first chance at life. Every decision you make is out of fear. You kill an insect because you’re scared. You sabotage an opportunity because you’re afraid. You love because you’re worried about functioning alone.

Ants are brave. They collectively march into your territory. Your finger presses on one, and it stops breathing. It’s done its job. It’s traveled to places you can’t pay a professional to take you. What’s on your mind? Not the answer you’d give to colleagues or even friends. Your intrusive thoughts. The yucky stuff that makes you sick.

Ants have surprising strength. You lift weights you can barely hold to show off before you drop them. You mistake indifference for resilience. Tears are not for the weak. Red, swollen eyes that sting in a room where no one else exists. There is nothing to be gained. Yet, they pour.

Ants transport their dead. You neglect yourself, repelling the disquiet. There is a process to everything. What came before and what comes after do not exist. Everything is now. The trail of ants peacefully walks past you, focused and willing. You’re distracted, certain that fulfillment is still missing.