day one hundred and eighty six.

i made up for what i
could handle
in sushi
for a lack of
cocktail tolerance
and some bad spelling.

day one hundred and eighty five.

my stomach is gurgling,
i tell you.
i'm just so
awfully
regretfully
sorry
to turn down your
forty dollars
(before taxes)
to calm my nerves
before this
poorly understood
test.

day one hundred and eighty four.

trying to explain
the double slit
experiment
is the equivalent
of split-
ting
my brain open.

day one hundred and eighty three.

but the garbage never smells
as good as it tasted.

day one hundred and eighty two.

i feel as hot and greasy
as kentucky fried boobies
and a pizza whore.

day one hundred and eighty one.

sometimes i want to break off
all connections
and be alone.
not because i wish to ignore
everyone i frequently contact,
but because in order
for them to continue
liking me, i feel
that i must stay away.

day one hundred and eighty.

that pizza
was the last battle;
won easily at first bite
with a false lead induced
by an over-sexualized blister.