What a waste it would be to throw these eggs away! [We've got a fridge]
These long days rowing boats remind me of how beautiful I thought the sun looked yesterday. I could’ve held it in my hands and blown - made a wish pristine and archaic, something biblical enough to remove me from here.
There is little control in placement or personhood, but there is much to hate all the same. My knuckles are cracked from rubbing against wet eyes. They yearn for a violence I could win. If you would just let me run sandpaper across them - freshen them up, I promise you’d like the color they would shine. I would’ve done it for you.
Perfection is a sin, one that lines the ridges of your face, settling around your chin, allowing your scowl its elegant animosity. I smile, a rodent made such by an obligation to survive without combat for preservation. I wait for you to see through it and tear me to bits - an honest expression of love.
You’re just so much bigger, aren’t you? A regular shark. Bite and writhe; you’ve mistaken me for a seal, bitten out my voice box before I could argue. I wouldn’t have, anyway, too little in it for me.
I’ll taste substances that’ll dull your wraith in my mind and save my tongue. I’m awfully tired. It’ll be the same.












