The Flow

The salty chips cut into my alarmingly chapped lips,
The bag in one hand, the book in other,
From an external angle it seems to hover,
Above my left knee,
There is only silence around me,
But yelling words of trailing characters echo in my insides,
Being brought to life with contact with my eyes,
The contacts in my eyes,
Are arid from staring…for hours,
The pointed power,
Keeps me seated,
The cushion heated,
And my eyes open.

“Literature take place with me,
In my noiseless solitude,
Bring fervor, emotion, and attitude-
To my usually dull life…”

I smile alone,
I lie the book down,
The living room is freezing,
These chips are bland,
My eyes are sore,
I have a cramp in my hand,
There’s tons of crumbs from chips on the floor,
And I just remember I had plans,
Welcome back.


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