A glass of wine, a cup of tea.

Heather has neglected you.
That cunt. That bitch. That lactating hoe.
Kitty cats and match.com.
Walking pneumonia wouldn't keep me away,
but cunt-face sits, on youtube, alone.

Because of my great loyalty to you, blog,
I sit and write, faithfully and predictably
on this Thursday night.
Butternut squash, nutter fut laush,
wine washes down the words.

Quiet apartment, buzzing fridge,
kitty cats, and match.com
Sid's tits keep milking and I
keep typing
Because drunk isn't even the word.

Walking pneumonia
the breakfast song.
Whistle and mother kept saying
the wine washes down the words.
Cunt.