All around the mulberry bush, the monkey chased the weasel.

Today is laced with you, like the edging on a coffin.

My first breath of morning air bit at my throat as the crisp October breeze fluttered in through the curtain.
Stinging my tonsils, just like a scorpion teasing prey.

Suspended in red time like my Vicodin magically floating in my jello.

The way I crave The Little Death is piercing like static at my seams.
Wearing like sandpaper on my skin.

I can hear you whisper 'fuck you' in my ears...
Or maybe you're screaming it to a melody.

And to think, it's only noon.