Airport sportsbar


I lead sometimes, then watch him struggle for words. He ordered a burger only. The frites ride the side of the compostable tray. I am too left slightly. I am sipping heavily the Basil, not carcinoma, as onboarding is in twenty. I usually wait a few minutes until the gate door closes. I have a new bag. I have to stuff in an overhead compartment.

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Published by: hermourningcoffee

Walking a fine line between genius and insanity. My words are raw, sometimes visceral and vulgar.  I write to settle my thoughts.  I have triggers that extract emotional immaturity and deep-rooted trauma, fear, anger, insecurity, and vulnerability. I heal with every stroke of the pen. Night Falls, I fear myself. I AM the monster underneath my bed. I do not wish to provoke you.  As you venture into my headspace, you ARE a willing participant. Disclaimer: 40/60 IRT

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