My brain hurts (doesn't make sense
because brains have no nerves
have only thoughts and electricity)
So I say I have a short and someone laughs at me (my conscience)
and tells me to take a walk (so I don't because I don't like to be told
what to do).
In the closet, mouse chews on her cage and I hope that she dies
soon (which is bad but I mean it because she keeps me up at night).
Still sitting in my bed staring at the ceiling like some black-
dressed emo kid from eleventh grade that put his cheek against
mine and said my heart was made of
weed.
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