steeper raze ceramic reminder of the strangest, loneliest winter of my life, chained to a mesh ball with dents on each side. just like a microphone grille dimpled by hands too drunk to hold anything of value. lie to me. tell me damage builds character. if i raise this to my face i can almost smell chocolate. strawberries. the weight of water hot enough to rend skin from bone. bruises felt but unseen. there's nothing here, but i'll part these lips to make a figure eight and breathe in anyway, huffing ghost fumes until i'm high on the loose leaves of all the tea that never touched the back of my throat. 220114 what's it to you? who go blather from