Quittin' For The Mouse (psychic hibernation)

Or, "An Expensive Way To Experience Heat Stroke"

Sometimes I sit to write and instead I well and, well, I am not so sorry, except for that it doesn't get told and it should, get shouted, my lips pressed hard against his finally yielding ears: the limitless, undying. And he'd believe it.

But still I'm silent. And dreaming! Because there is no supplication strong enough to crack the sifted fear in his half-baked biscuit. His lovely human condition.

We all have our (un)spoken word that should be, and I think we shouldn't use "should" any more, so meet me where "will" intersects with "will not", race ya! But each looking over our respective shoulder, we collided into each other at the intersection of "don't say that" and "out loud".

So, now I speak it, Brother, like in those crazy churches. Witness:

I love him more the longer I know him and this makes me want even more his company which means the more I want to do for him, which is to say: right by him, and when everyone else sells words that makes me feel very alone, I know that I am not, and, I will tell you truly, I never thought this could happen to a girl like me. Not because of fate or guilt or any of the other obstacles to happiness that I don't believe in, or at least subscribe to, but just because I am just a regular girl

cog in the wheel
gear in the machine

you can buy them now As Seen On TV! at Literary Devices-R-Us but you can find them on clearance at Tropes Galore, saw a coupon for a discount on the basest model metaphor in a bulk-mailed booklet entitled "Better Living Through Pornography" and I am not a genius and I do not know everything and I disavow any knowledge of ever saying otherwise. I have been extraordinary lucky in most respects, so I'm not sure why I should walk around in a semi-surprised state that I managed to land him. And in my dark days, I secretly fear that it is because he was just so sad. And maybe stays because maybe still is. But I am not ashamed of nature or my nature and I do not care about efficiency. So, I will take the long way around with you; always. And shout it to you with a tender ruffle of your hair and the raising of your children and, with ridiculous permanence modeled after the steady course of the sun, offer you ten thousand pounds of forgiveness.

And anal.