The world oozes by
Drenched in migraine molasses.
Heated air mocks chill.
writing
Not sure what to call this but my toner is low
On the precipice
Changing season begs desire.
Dawn peaks through the blinds.
I feel a non-metered rant coming on…
Safely hidden lump
growing deep inside my throat.
Fresh cut breaks the skin.
MKat Reclamations 