It’s 3:17 a.m.
You bleed bad metaphors stained with coffee.
It’s 3:21 a.m.
You bask in the twilight-laughter of a black-light.
You bleed black fountain ink; stain your leather-bound journal with coffee.
It’s 3:26 a.m.
You wonder what magazines a vegetarian-cannibal would have in the bathroom. Does he drive a hybrid? Is there room for the bodies?
You stain the enamel-bone-shards, smiling in your mouth, with coffee.
You don’t have whitening toothpaste.
It’s 3:29 a.m.
You think of the past.
You think in the present tense.
You think in the ultra-fly-screw-and-die-in-24-present tense.
You have revelations – like a goofy/reverse translation of your name is “German Jesus”.
You stain your shirt with coffee.