hi!

I am a post-mimosal woman.

I'm tired, scraping whatever barrels and getting only wet woody splinters.  When the barrel is empty it is a place to hide.  It is a place to liquefy and ferment and be drunk by Chinese emperors.

This is not about you, don't feel it, for me or for yourself.

I've been annoying me, and feeling fake everywhere, down to the flesh, of which there is always too much.  

This is not complaining, or a manifestation.  This is a manifestation.  This is a headache.

This is the pulp of the orange entering the body.  

This is never being comfortable.

This is an inability to remember comfort.

The fuck of it is:

I am bored.

I am bored.

I am bored.

I am bored.

I am I am

I am bored I am 

bored I am BORED

I AM BORED

I am BORED I AM BORED

I AM BORED I AM BORED I AM

BORED I AM 

BORED.