My strokes, over each other, again and again build. As I pour soul in, I try to convey
the right amount of absence of life into the characters.
Old friend it’s so nice to see you again. Your presence passing by wafts the stench of
my sweating body to my nostrils. Realization that I haven’t showered occurs, and
my stomach acids churn. I should eat.
The temperature benevolent, but the cutting sweat takes over my body. My bowels
wanting to reject their contents, but the fear of distress keeps me grounded.
Scuffling with the muses that have presented themselves is your food.
It’s so nice to see you again. I worried about the monstrosities that might find me.
Seeing that they’re mear noids doesn’t bother me.
Soon I will find food, maybe a shower. For now I wait. For answers.
Maybe my list of questions will burn from the bottom up.
For now I will wave my own lighter under them. Hoping for oxidation.