alphabet-soup
poetry,  prose

alphabet soup

I feel like life has been drained from me.  Then tiny holes were poked into me.  When I try to slurp that sweet soul-syrupy nectar from the cup of life it siphons out of me.  Gush.  A bit of the itchy juice tingles the toes, but they don’t bend.  Spurt.  More like an uncomfortable twitch that you wish would stop.

I feel like I’m melting into a warm tar that simmers all that I was into one and evaporates it into nothing.  Kerplunk.  No mess.  No fuss.  I’m fine.  Hiccup.  Here I am, now.  This is me.  Soup is good.  Alphabet if you’ve got it.  Two ice cubes and a napkin, please.

I feel like I’m unravelling and my blackened insides are showing-off their goopy laze.  Guck.  I try to wrap the strands of skin back ‘round my tangled organs, but it sags, droops and bounces back and knocks me unconscious.  I don’t sleep or I sleep until noon. 

I can’t remember much, lately.  I feel like I’ve held the remote long enough.  It’s your turn.  Pass it down the line…

 

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