The air is lava.
And time is a slow death.
I'm tap dancing on the road
With icicles as my feet.
No, this is not running, this is swimming.
Swimming inside the eyeball
Of a celestial nightmare.
The house is a gas chamber
In the disguise of a bakery.
Who would have known
That empty little words
Can cause chest wall contusions.
****** is not quite the word I would use.
Because eventually we all
Drink our caramel lattes and
Break God's nose in the end.