Of Drugs and Cookies and Shallow Conversations

Pacing in the hallway, part thirsty and part zombie like, listening to some dopey numbers, and eating muggy crisps; that I otherwise wouldn’t; I realized, I was angry.  And constipated. If I had a functional mind, there was something on it.

The scalp itched when I thought and I thought a lot. Some thoughts, had no tops or  bottoms, they were just nothing or if they were something, I couldn’t make sense of them, like pieces of multi colored eight by eight rubix cube puzzles, mocking my acuity to put them together and draw valid conclusions out of them.litlatte._cookies

I looked at my hand. My fingers had painful and reeking cracks and my nails … my nails, were black and lifeless and long, like a fake Halloween witch art. There was no electricity. The bills were unpaid and my utensils and the hall mirror and the window pane and the whole house was a fucking shithole. Continue reading

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