Writers Jam

**

I lay on my bed

With one leg over another

The supporting leg

Swinging from side to side

My head placed on folded arms

I face the empty ceiling

I ponder

I then hope to ponder more

To leave cracks on the boring white ceiling

As these thoughts break free through the roof 

Eventually, my neck begins to feel sore

I care to look around 

To see if the squirrel hid under the chair 

To snack on spilt condiments

My eyes landed on the closed window

Across the room

Begging me to strip it

For wind to escape from the outsiders

But i prefer not to get naked in front of creepy neighbours

I place water bottles in the scanty space and incense and lighters and broken needles and milo molecules and and and and and and and and and and and and and and and sorry i stuttered

Water to me, is like reward

I put myself through drought

Until i feel lightheaded

Until i lose the ability to salivate

Water from silver bottles adapt to room temperature in real time 

Water from brass bottles taste like liquified rocks 

Water from plastic bottles taste like virgin coconut oil 

Water from glass, you ask? Perfect. Just perfect.

Lukewarm? so good, 

Boiling hot? does not melt away like it does for plastic.

Freezing cold? Does not leave a stinging achy tooth unlike silver.

The filtered kind, they began selling it in glass 

Design is peak, stuff within is yum

The kind that pleases the 3 am thirst

Man do I love those shelves?

I have never not felt the need 

To drop them all on the ground

Watch them all shatter

Vibrant coloured caps

Detach from its body

A rhythmic wreck

If only that was legal

wowawowowowoweew

I collect them like souvenirs

Break plenty, because I'm clumsy like that

I leave a few scattered pieces

To unintentionally step on

To shed tears, sourced from you know who

Mourn their death on rainy thursday mornings

My current one, stands tall

Fits the shape of my lips perfect

The hot pink cap makes me feel 

nothing?

Aesthetically pleasing? idk

I have a sketch or two of it

Shitty ones

On certain days

The transparent bottle remains full

Sometimes half empty

Sometimes carries a single drop 

Which I manage to spill on the floor

Now I’m not walking down those creaky wooden stairs eh

Time for gratitude! I love you glass bottle with the hot pink cap, please don't go bald.

(knuckles is the name of the brand,strange)

**