Slime on Me
Rugged.
Trash.
Harnessed spitballs.
I don’t have slime on me.
Just trampled on like a receipt for coffee.
I don’t like that clicking sound.
If you asked me to have a hallucination…
Maybe it would be the last stone in the driveway forever.
Things grow that way, inside.
I don’t have slime on me.
That was just the hope of anger of grace of unreality.
Woke up to dry air and sort of don’t have eyelids.
I don’t have slime on me.
This cave is big enough for a hundred vampire bats.
And they side eye me all night.
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