neon yellow walls

a compulsive lie

a crashed joke.

customers walking in 18 minutes before close.

the guilt that trails skipping work,

a can of keychain mace.

coffee with one fake sugar, no cream.

taking orders while the sun begs

for me to lay on its grass.

a bout of congestion.

obsession that feels less like passion

and more like

throwing halfway up in a clenched esophagus.

rolling eyes at text messages

ignoring

seething.

a skull stuck in a glass box

suffocating in headache

and an out-of-reach

different sort of life.