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I’m a slug in need of exercise, a bowl of jelly overflowing: jello with no flow. Hello, high, this beat’s dropped in a soupy mess of soylent green I’m thinking random crap splat spots. I ate too many chips between sips of sangria, too much salsa between slurps of sangria.

This is garbage, and the extent of my writing after one night partying – a hangover of a creative proportion after too many portions of snacks and booze all settled in my stomach like cemented glues layering atop pizza and beer.

I deserve this aftermath and don’t fear the payment due debts collected, tomorrow I’ll run a loop reflection on joy, albeit physically distanced, I feel like shit but it’s not persistent.

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