a bad day, a ways away. Titled, Today.

Today.

Today is the slower version of a dead turtle.

a salted slug.

If I were to craft a boat of my own shit and said around the circumference of the earth,

it would be faster than today.

Today is a pebble at the bottom of a frozen oil drum.

it is cold.

it is dull.

it is motionless, and it’s dead.

There is a clock nailed to my forehead and someone ripped off it’s limbs.

time. stands. still.

I tremble in my pent up rage.

Someone shake me from the inside!

Pull this soul out from my feet!

Stretch it back over my dull, weak, hollow, bones.

Pull me apart and polish my broken pieces, please put me back together.

All in due time, I will sell myself to the wolves again.