I Don't Know if I'm Coming or Going . I drag on my skinny cigar and stand up to leave, stretching up to full height in my own time. I feel as if maybe I could sleep. It feels like a suit I used to wear, a dim memory of comfort. My hair lies across my back like a woolen shawl.
Headaches are quick to come and slow to leave.
Your pretty tits be hangin', Zillah-Eden. Cruelty and violent ironies peppered with only fleeting moments of joy and beauty. We are, all of us, set adrift on a garbage planet, thinking confidently that we've not already been cast into Hell. Life has a hollow soul, brittle as a rotten stick. It's the human condition to turn, to rot, while still living, like a ruby-colored tomato blackening on the vine.