syrup Soma Two minutes to midnight I’m awake and my mouth is lonely I’m thinking of you but I don’t want you I never want anyone, not really Food will suffice Two slices of white bread Buttered and toasted crisp The syrup jar tips over With me at the counter The muffled echo of syrupy slaps Wet tongue lapping up the sweetness The squick of buttered bread against the plate My vast home quiet and dark Another solitary Sunday night in suburbia 230314 what's it to you? who go blather from