“I forgave her because it’s not over.”

Going to eat some unfrosted strawberry Pop-Tarts.
The frosted ones have never made much sense to me.
I remember breaking like an egg when you called me a coward.
I remember feeling like a chicken the first time I cracked open an egg with blood in it.

I ate the Pop-Tarts.
I drank the Coca-Cola.
And truth be told I don’t feel very good.
In fact in about thirty minutes I may need to take an Alka-Seltzer Heartburn+Gas ReliefChews Tropical Punch Chewable Tablet.

These words like all words leave a stain.
These words like all words brandish a worthless objection.
I’m sick and I’m tired of being a conscientious objector.
I’m sick and I’m tired of laying a bet on the dark horse.

Going to eat a grilled Bavarian ham and Swiss cheese sandwich on Jewish rye.
Any other rye just doesn’t make sense to me.
I remember the first time I went to a Jewish deli and how at home I felt.
I remember the first time I ate a hot pastrami and chopped liver sandwich on Jewish rye and how I knew immediately that would be my go to sandwich for the rest of my life.

These sentences like all sentences leave a bad aftertaste in my mouth.
These sentences like all sentences breakdown before they’ve even hit the page because they have no sense of purpose and are fed up with being out of work and feeling so much pent up rage.
Come here I want to spill a secret into your ear.
Come closer I promise to keep my hands to myself especially when our clothes are disseminated all over the floor like anorexic ghosts and our fucking is devoid of rhythm or for that matter a worthy punchline.

Charles Cicirella
2/13/15