Sometimes the sad soaks in fast. A flood over saturated earth. It first wets your mouth. Then saturates the throat. Each breath needs to be accounted for. Like coins slipping into a vending machine. When it floods the stomach, eating is a sick joke. You can’t help but laugh.
Imagine having to stuff pancakes through your ear canals. Or a banana into your bellybutton. Ice cream up the nose.
Winter was even colder than usual and you covered the bones with layers of gruesomeness. The pies were delicious at Christmas.
Now you are a balloon trying to pop by bouncing on the ceiling.
Unsure if the underlying desire is to be seen, bouncing in desperation.
Or disappear in a tiny explosion.