Ninety-nine: Toast

Sometimes you make me so mad
Without doing any wrong at all.

I know what you’ll say.
I know what you’ll all say
but damn it!
If you want to be my piece of toast
(and all tics aside, I hope you do)
you should know that
I couldn’t sleep las night.
This has nothing to do with you,
I know.
We all know
you make me so mad because
I want you to know when I can’t sleep
and stay up with me
(even if you’re really, really tired).
if I knew that you’d be willing to stay awake
I don’t think I’d have trouble sleeping
at all.

When I mention food,
it doesn’t mean I want to talk about it!
What’s wrong with you?
Isn’t it obvious that I say things off-hand,
off-beat squiggles of words I hope are quirky?
Seriously, man.

Some days are robots day,
speaking from scripts and
Some days are  so easy,
it’s like reading a favourite book

But today the letters are all scrambled in my head and nothing makes sense.

And if you were my piece of toast,
you wouldn’t be frowning while you read
this, thinking:
What the fuck is she on about?


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I drink, I laugh, I smoke, I write.

One thought on “Ninety-nine: Toast”

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