like a biscuit dropped
in a cup of tea
I drown in a series
of minor daily tragedies.
Whether I get swallowed
with a grimace
or poured into the sink
I know that all
of these drains
will lead me
back to that sea
the sea of which
I will never be free,
the Sea of Unwanted Memories
and Great Catastrophes;
I wonder if I may
indeed have missed
my chance to be happy,
like perhaps I’ve just missed
my one opportunity,
perhaps I should’ve just
let him
devour me,
before I fell apart
before his eyes,


    1. It’s all those little annoyances that add up and snowball to the point where you genuinely believe that the universe is conspiring against you. And dropping your last custard cream into your brew is a true British tragedy. X

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