you can’t make me do a goddamned thing

i don’t feel
like writing
it is cold in here, seems as if
crystals
twinkle suspended
a thousand flecks
beckoning
in the eerie glow of the television

i am
hungry
a bit tired from the headache that
flogged me awake
indifferent
to the idea of writing
instead i shall curl up
in a pajamaed ball
reading as
ryo plays low in the back

a thousand thousand
i love yous
in serene fractals
crystalize upon my shivering skin
as i decide
against another
mediocre poem
an indecent indifference
in heartdrizzle viridescence

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