Free Write #308

My feet, tied to my board,
Yet I’m flying down the slope.
I’m constrained, and free, and both.
The feeling of adrenaline, actualized.

Shaved ice, crushed underneath.
It’s a stable pitch: white noise.
The sound of adrenaline, actualized.

Flakes, become dots, become lines,
Zipping past and landing
On my glasses, my ears, my face.
The touch of adrenaline, actualized.