Nonsense

there’s a flicker, a pause, a blue-screen and finally the cursor arrives as if she’s the only thing in existence, the only thing that can remedy the disagreements between you and the real world.

she’s relentless with her gaze and for whatever reason you can’t look away, save for the one moment when your head raises up and to the right in search of some three-course meal that will feed her addiction but you don’t fucking cook and you look back at her in anger as peanut butter and jelly juggles a glass of milk in your mind’s eye.

you look down and to the left to call her a bitch under your breath in the realization that your ass is tethered in place until you can give her what she wants.

some semblance of truth.

but who is she to know your truth? who is she to travel from line to line broadcasting your joys and pains as if they were complete puzzles through which others might imagine your life?

it always hurts. her persistence.