You give over your daytime every time.
I look across it all and I can’t find the right
way to come back.
The sacrifices are all in empty Gatorade
bottles on the same shelf. They are
licking the plastic, hoping desperately
for the blurry walls to dissolve from the acid
in their spit.
When confronted they don’t do shit
other than complain about the references.
Movies, sex, and drugs were all among their
preferences
Teleporting Typewriter 