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.
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