πšƒπš‘πšŽ πš‚πšŽπšŠπšπšπš•πšŽ πšƒπš’πš–πšŽπšœ


π™·πš˜πš 𝚘𝚏𝚏 πšπš‘πšŽ πš™πš›πšŽπšœπšœ. πšƒπš‘πšŽ πšŒπš˜πš—πšŸπšŽπš’or πš‹πšŽπš•πš πš’πš‘πšŽ πš πš‘πš’πšπšŽ πšŒπš˜πšŸπšŽπš›πšœπš‘πšŽπšŽt. The right wing of a tail section. The yellow strips of the bundle explode 

The fucking inserts. We love our coupons like the McDee’s Monopoly tabs. The Grandmas cut coupons after church. Coffee turns to Gin Rummy. Us kids hustling our lunch money Chinese jacks quarters everything a competition. Defiance is glamorous. Except for Sundays, Grimace pays a visit. I eat my fries. The processed honey and hot mustard trumps ketchup. I’m just writing not getting political. 

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Published by: hermourningcoffee

Walking a fine line between genius and insanity. My words are raw, sometimes visceral and vulgar. Β I write to settle my thoughts. Β 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. Β As you venture into my headspace, you ARE a willing participant. Disclaimer: 40/60 IRT

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