Break time is over.
Life is calling like an alarm attempting to stir me from my sleep. But I lean over and slap the snooze. Just five more minutes.
I am a shit talker.
I am a gem talker.
Tasteless talk, all the same. On my lips it smells sour and leaves a bitter tinge on my tongue.
Activation. Pull the lever and I will come alive, like a toy that does a dance then dozes off until another child tampers with it.
I am not here for your entertainment. I do not play on cue.
I do not play on tune.
My words are piling up and stinking up the entire house.
The alarm goes off, alerting of danger danger danger
rise and bakey
Lift those fingers and get a little crazy.
I’ve returned. I’m going to continue typing my thoughts, but I will try to do it as truly as I think.
You have been warned.
We’re going over the edge now
if you’d please fasten your seatbelt.