The taste of coffee sticks to my throat
Can’t scrape it off, can’t spit it out
My eyes water thanks to every light source
I rub till they’re red, I whack till they’re blue
These jeans are making my fingers twitch
I’d pull them off if I could bear to touch them some more. In public, of course.
The smell of the yogurt pot is making me sick
To bin it would be to smell it up close. My nose is even blocked, yet here we are.
The sound of my breathing is choking me up
I’m holding my neck but it just won’t let up.
Today just let my senses rot. Only guitars should go up to 11.