Deja Screams

It is way too late to do the coffee thing, and much too early to turn on the idiot box because they’re still hawking lotions, potions, and miracles in small bottles. I can’t write as I am at a loss for the right words, and an entire paragraph is all but impossible. If I create anything today, it will reflect the madness, a few jumbled sentences that won’t make sense to anyone including myself.

I can’t be bipolar, because that involves uncontrolled laughter and right about now I could not even buy a smile. However, the plastic keys on my machine are becoming soggy, so I must be halfway there. Maybe it was the Saint Jude’s commercial, followed by emaciated puppies on the A.S.P.C.A. pitch. I hit the daily double of infomercial tearjerkers. Maybe “My Sister’s Keeper” will be on next. It will be like hitting the trifecta. Cold I have become, but children and animals are another thing altogether.

I ponder my day, the sick children, the abused animals, and come to the grim realization I have more past than future. So instead of trying to create anything, I stare at the countless cigarette butts floating in the steel toilet. They drift counter clockwise, and in China, it’s flow goes in the other direction. I realize the story I am trying to convey is the cause of it. Even though I am not actually creating it as it’s still unfolding in real time. Glancing to the T.V. screen, the children are still bald and sterile. I opt to put my ear buds in instead just as the radio plays “Wake Me Up” by Everessance. You gotta be kidding me.