The whole night, it kept ringing,
announcing deaths no more.
They stayed there in their extinguishing fire.
Breath follows breath.
And as it goes away, they wait.
And the alarm keeps on ringing.
and you keep saying you’ll do it later.
It’s Archimedes, cleaning again.
Often smiling they look for you.
Spawning from immaturity and happiness,
relentlessly waiting to be eaten.
Faceplates- plate faces– dish faces.
And regular junk mail isn’t much better…
My account is frozen? Damn, I’ll need more viagra to unfreeze it.
I can’t believe how many of them are after me.
They roam sites I’ve never been in -and they feel greatly attracted to me.
They send me strange emails overusing extended characters, but that’s alright.
Because they are horny and they have to write quick.
They offer me great ways to make loads of money from home.
Like that guy in the subway entrance, but better.
It’s too good to be true but it’s alright.
Because I can’t believe that invoice I forgot to pay,
or that I missed so many notices to appear in court.
Fuck junk and scam emails.
Here it goes again, this is the drill:
Drill a beautiful hole, not too small.
The shitty screw breaks inside under not much torque.
Try to get it out, and the acrylic sheet breaks.
I am not blaming the acrylic sheet,
but the shit: Fuck those crappy screws.
(I would blame China but not all screws made in China are crap)
Note: the picture’s screw isn’t torque-fucked-screwed.
But it is crap, as the ones that came with it.
I never expected much from a telecom company,
but what a piece of shit Tracfone is.
What’s there? what came in the mail?
It’s more twitching for your left eye!
But believe me not, I can stop anytime.
A growing addiction to coffee, I fear not.
This way it’s perfectly sealed.
This way bacteria won’t find a way.
This way I’ll eat healthy.
This way I’ll never remember Mary’s spaghetti.
This way I’ll grow happy.
This way I’ll be rich.
This way I’ll achieve completeness.
So don’t criticize my impractical ways to store food.
I’d store nuclear waste the same way.
Flakes stick to your skin subtly
You don’t even realize, when they were willingfully sunken.
One step closer to total control,
but it isn’t you.
It’s never you.
It’s you, loathing yourself.
It’s them, the peeling mice
directing your hatred.