Cause no one’s ever been given the opportunity to tell it me it is only a phase - call it an act of self defense or call it a way to make sure I never have the chance to lie to myself. Either of the two will do. Do you think this is an acceptable way to approach the topic with you? The second phase is new, for sure, but do you think you could at least accept its existence, its presence. I’m going to back to bed. I haven’t done anything today worth telling you about at all, and that’s not okay. The clothes are spread across the floor; the bedsheets smell like snacks. There’s an imprint on the mattress that closely resembles my ass. I need to shower. I need to pick up the trash that hides a rotten banana. My identity can wait after i finish this episode of Futurama. My well-being can wait after I figure out if body puns work well in songs (hand me a few feet of rope and finger out wrist chair eye’m fit to stand on). Kick the chair out from under me (you know soccer never was a strength of mine). Tell them the little things were the reasons why I couldn't bide my Time to eat! Please come downstairs! Is something wrong? You’ve hardly touched your plate. You know I hate that worried look you’ve got. Is there anything I can do to help? You know you can tell us anything, right? Yeah, I’m left with that impression most days, but today isn’t on that list. Everything around me is crumbling like coffee cake and my internal organs are failing at a similar pace. My dick’s not getting much of a supply, despite my heart and brain’s demands. T his can, colored brightly, grips my brain, tin fist fits tightly. What arouses me is scary - creeping through my body once a night. If you know someone who knows a thing or two about fluidity, have 'em slide on over so we can drain our brains and shoot the breeze about changing seasons, renewed relationships, ever-molting shells, personal hells. Ever get that way yourself? Yeah, I feel that 100% - do you wanna hug it out?