I'm going just a little bit crazy
I feel sick and I drip drip drip like wax down fingers or string and everything is so effortful and I am so effortless and dead. I have crawled up inside myself again. You can find me plainly curled up behind my stomach calmly cotemplating my internal organs and whether or not my spleen is absolutely vital. My goldfish, named Marie, is hungry and he or she or it is kissing the water's end like it will bring her something. Like she is breathing the air. And the phantoms of flowers wave behind her, I'll call her her because with a name like Marie him hardly fits, I never had the heart to throw them away not until after the water turned brown and disappeared and their necks snapped. And one day they were just gone. Disintegrated or Evaporated or Abducted. My bookcase's name is Billy-- or someone in Sweden played a joke and Billy actually means something other than short for William. He is taller than I am and his shelves are not even half full and that is just unacceptable. I am irrational. Bad grades and incomplete homework makes my skin crawl and my stomach tie in knots and bows and loops. Small girls play jump rope with it. I am crazy and growing more so by the hour, minute, second. And you should know that by now because I have rambled and my pen is green and I have told you so and that is all you have to go on.And I am still sick. Sick and crazy and irrational and made out of wax and dripping down this page on string and fingers all at once.