How am I supposed to thrive in the heat of this winter.
Feverish panic about what lies beyond the fuck you that wants erupt from my lips.
An engagement of fatal affairs, I am more inclined to the solace of kicking and punching the air
with heartburn from instant coffee and bud burns than cascade the wrath of my equalization.
Without a beat missed, there is an unyielding burden screaming in the top right cupboard.
Aching to be used. Aching to be innovated.
Stale progression and circumvention of the obvious.
Get a job sweetie. Get a life sweetie. Buy an actual coffee machine sweetie.
Pestering, nagging.
I am well aware that all that beckons is possible.
Ground coffee in my dry hand, it is ideal however I am not one to shy away from the plausibility of the fuck yous that need to erupt before I emerge a I new fresh woman.
It is annoying really. I don't want to flip people off nor do I want to let them stay so I am in a bit of a pickle.
Coarse salt courses over this period of time.
Solid - solid extraction of myself in all of this.
Lentils seeking validation is the zero fat marinade.
Confused conversing with the can of peaches and a sorrow drowned in sardines.
A catastrophe of isolated possibilities.
Ideas waiting for expiration.
I am truly a wasteful writer.
Geez
- Clementine Anne Strachan
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