The elevator isn’t coming
I am ice cold in the stairwell
With hands like fire
Pressed against my face

The books I’ve read
Have never told me
That even when you’re running away
Those last two steps
Make your legs feel like ships
That have sunk
To the bottom of the ocean

I have spaces between my words and theirs
They think about their answers
While the burning spreads through my knees towards my feet

I am melting and falling apart
In a pan on the stovetop
And there are snowflakes on the windowsill
Getting caught and dying
Before they can reach my blistering skin