I thought he said my name.
How’s it going?
I didn’t know his.
And then it kept running.
Blue tooth. No.
It kept going.
I didn’t feel so badly
about my terrifying sponge.
American Culture, Depression, Isolation, Poems, Poetry, Take Me To The Hospital
This entry was posted on August 24, 2011, 9:51 pm and is filed under Poems. You can follow any responses to this entry through RSS 2.0.
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#1 by Evelyn on August 24, 2011 - 11:30 pm
this pisses me off and makes me laugh.
#2 by Carl on August 25, 2011 - 9:25 pm
My face got all twisted up trying to imagine how you could have that kind of reaction. It sounds cool.
#3 by Evelyn on August 26, 2011 - 9:26 pm
blue tooth is the leash of the devil.
its funny when you call your brain a sponge.
sponge bob brain pants.
#4 by Carl on August 29, 2011 - 10:19 pm
I know Brain Pants. Mine’s a sponge not because it absorbs stuff but because you can squeeze it and stuff comes out…
#5 by Indigo Spider on August 25, 2011 - 10:38 am
So typical of interactions lately — seems to be trying to engage but then they are just in their own little worlds. Leaves me confused.
#6 by Carl on August 25, 2011 - 9:26 pm
Yes, confusion reigns, and that’s okay I suppose because it has to be.
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