I feel you
I know you'll
Write back but
Will it be too late
Of your face
Could talk to you
But not sure
What to say
Good scrambled eggs can find
More competency in hand
Than that within mind
A competent chef doesn't mean that they're a complete person. Or that their eggs should be yours for life. And vice versa.
Rich and dark
Slowly spinning in a white cup,
Creating a warm feeling
A smell that sells houses
Sizzling, crackling into life
Taste-buds still blurred
From the grogginess of sleep,
Bacon and eggs
Like Morecambe and Wise
An inseparable odd couple
Folded and re-folded
Onto an article of vague interest,
Words from another world
Unimaginable, war torn, desolate,
Colder than the rain-washed street
Outside this café window
The first of the day
Smouldering between yellowed
Fingers moulded to its shape,
Smoke slightly burning eyes
That are awakening to
Another fragment of life
Morning, a window, sunlight and a table
clutter all around of items and laughter
this family of five had gathered together
and invited me to breakfast
The warmth of included love and laughter
melted my taste buds after
I took my first bite of warm syrup, peanut butter, and waffles
I remember few meals better
Can I plead that I don't know how...as poor as that excuse?
****** up the tea cups Dad gave me, to thence
Drop all to get a hold of him, t'avail--
His dear initials on those twa cups hale
Reminders of my father, in defense
Of all he's givn me, 'spite my follies, whence
O how we talk in lieu of breakfast's scale
Of nour'shment! Likeas when we could detail
Each other's eye and face--talk--for intents.
I knew he'd love the Calhoun County tour--
Twas all both he and Mum had cherished through
The years: secluded, off the grid as twere,
Nor with the city's echo, quite poor too.
It's just the money. What drove me to stir
Up independence was that cursed thing's cue.
Stinks I'm not back home with Dad...
1.5 grams of marijuana, 30 mL of cough syrup, half a bowl of cereal, and an iron supplement.
Then I throw up blood into a toilet, shave, and put on a pair of flip flops.
I don't bother changing pants, so I just grab a different shirt, throw on some deodorant, and smoke another joint.
I get in the car.
I take a deep, shaky breath.
And drive away.
This was my morning.
It’s not carbicide
I’ll take three rounds of toast
Two bananas and three oat flapjacks
Washed down with hot cacao.
Eat ! And be merry.
Fasting is great, and we’re infinite, but if you want to be physical, you have got to eat physical at some points. Even in breatharianism. Today’s air does not contain the same nutrients as back in the day. So if trends come, be aware. Look after yourselves.