Too hot. Can’t sleep.
I can’t. Who built this place?
No air fluctuates.
It’s a tight space.
Kind of like my waist.
Don’t come near unless for a taste.
If you’re not a pussy whisperer, stay away,
Because the amount of soothing it’ll need to function
Can amount to the weight of a freight train.
My mind needs more.
Fluctuating from overstimulated to bored.
I think living is a chore for those who don’t see a purpose anymore.
But so is breathing, and you don’t have to live to breathe.
Just learn to believe you’re cold, or that
The game has not yet gotten old.
Or else, you’ll just have to learn, as I did, to leave that dingy room
When it gets too hot.