Valhalla's Basement



A winter’s woe. The cloud excrement of angels. Heaven's toilet bowl running over with mud. Lamprey eels sucking at the window, hungry for the fluids I no longer have. They ran down my pant leg long ago and stuck in a strange shape to the surface of the linoleum. The cat, now mummified, got his head trapped behind the fridge when he tried to remember last summer. My death ray headache. A persistent mucosal cough. The baby’s nightmare still popping and pinging in its jar at the back of the cupboard I never open. My wristwatch, crazed with boredom, flaps around the kitchen and batters itself to death against the light bulb. The blood stained Kleenex is the flower of my future. My only friends are my wounds so I keep picking at them so they won't go away.

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