Gemotions

“Fine, whatever,” Ben muttered. He felt a sense of suffocation. The art collective had used his poetry, taking his words and putting them on posters without a word to him. The words he had spilled his soul into, the words that were his, were now on display, twisted by someone else. He took a deep breath.

He stood and walked towards the door, ignoring the protests of his friend. He needed an escape. He needed space. He felt a constant pulse, a humming in his veins. He didn’t want to talk, he just wanted to leave. He took a long walk in silence, trying to outrun the pain.