Tuesday night poetry
Love is like a clam.
Still alive in the sand.
Resenting you for trying to move it from where it was comfortable.
A valuable protein that is suicidal at the thought of being with you.
Lashing out in a final piss directed at your face.
I am so happy with my very first goth poem about feelings.
I promise not to do that very often. But I had some seafood for dinner and then came home to find out that my best friends love life still majorly sucks. I mean - mine ain’t great…but perspective is everything. No?
In other news – I spent half the day on conference calls while browsing the internet for my boyfriends-brothers-ex-mistress’s blog. I cannot believe I haven’t found it yet. I don’t even care what it is anymore – I am just so irritated at ‘not finding something’ that my competitive spirit is bruised. Plus there is a carrot on the line with the fact that she is a total nutbag and tends to raise eyebrows all over the place. She has (what is rumored to be) the manners of a goat and the morals of a professional fisherman. Now what’s not entertaining about THAT? I ask you??
But it’s like roasting marshmallows – if I get too close this will all likely go up in flames. I think all of this nonsense is due to the fact that there is nothing on tv and my mind is left to wander in search of organic reality programming beneath my IQ. The sad sad fate of an American with no travel plans in the heat of the summer. <sigh>