You look well! - Am I not?

You found the end of. . .
my spout.
This spout of intuition.
I pout.
And I pout frequently.
Over splashing coffee in my mouth;
running through my veins/
stimulating.

Splashing over coffee.
I vomit it all out!
It's all over the floor?
Oh my gawd.
God. -Why.
Why god.
Why god.
Rinse and repeat.
Coffee should taste like mouth wash-
only a lit fuse can burn me out. . .
because of the taste.
But Noooo.
If mouth wash tasted -
just like coffee.
But no "what if" "and's"
-or "but's"
I cried over spilling my coffee.
It splashed all over.
All over me.
ME.
And how embarassing.
I began this narrative:
SPLASHING.

Like a drowning victim in no need
of help -
helping me commit
narrative suicide.

OR

"Suicide by narrative."

The intent always remained the same.

However, this.

Has ended.