Masticating Graciousness

Namas-fucking-te. Asshole.

Good morning, world and universe. How are you? You seem to be resting on my back like a... shit, I don't know, but you're there, hovering.

Maybe it's that your like a child waiting for a pony ride, prodding me to go, whispering in my ear "play with me."

And all I want to do is sit in my pajamas and give up or in.

I hurt (or am uncomfortable) somewhere and it has set off an infection (perhaps I have infected bed sores) of sorts in my heart/soul, you can taste the metallic bitterness when you chew on it.

The beginning of failure is sitting on my shelf of accomplishments, right beside those unfinished sculptures, all in its shiny new glory, like a newborn goblin slick with birth. I'm almost too tired, too overwhelmed to say Fuck You, Goblin.

Fuck you, Goblin. Shove it up your ass.

You're a fucker, you know that? Don't fucking look at me - for you, I don't exist. It doesn't matter what I do or don't do, it's none of your god damn business, and it does't reflect success or failure, only my state of mind at this particular intersection. So get the fuck off my lawn, stop pissing in my garden and tearing up the plants. You're an asshole.

And you can tell your boss, or your "creator"  to shove it, too. I don't care how fucking big he is, I can take him. I'll spit in his mouth as soon as he tries to start talking. I'm done with your guys' shit.

GET THE FUCK OFF MY BACK!

Except you, Universe. If you're gentle, you can stay. But don't be that annoying kid, okay? Be something sweet that elevates me (and I will try not to narrow down the possibilities of how that will manifest (even though it's really hard to not... you know, imagine stuff) itself).

Now, can we all just get along? Jesus, you guys are exhausting.