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.