There should be more words in here but I'm summoning sleep and similes in equal measure. Yesterday I slid down a plastic tube and I could have sworn I had more words in here. Bath salts, pterodactyl, fruit toast, one of these things is not like the others. It is best before sleep to smoke as many cigarettes as possible, this I solemnly swear.
If it was only about reclaiming space then I would wear my fighter jet pilot's helmet and walk in circles but its not about that. What I want tastes less like toothpaste. If there was water I would drink it. I'm not meandering around thoughts, these words are unconnected to anything except sounds. I'm wondering who decided that cities should have an absence of night, they keep it at bay with electric lights on tall posts as though we couldn't find our own way, as though periodic modern miracles erected on high will keep us safe from each other. I want to talk to strangers and link arms in our common journeys homeward bound. These words are unconnected to thoughts or all those minutes tied one after the other while I dressed and worked and bent forwards with a bowl for the cat.