Day of Papier-mâché!

When I think of her, sometimes,

my whole milk curdles and gives me a whole lot of problems in my glass during breakfast.

Maybe, it could be make it into cottage cheese.

Or, actually, I’d rather just visit a cottage made of cheese.

Maybe the cottage should be made with Swiss cheese though, so there’s plenty of ventilation!

I digress…

I touch my chest,

where my target heart rests.

It’s full of puncture wounds,

from wicked words of thud-thudding-thunder,

but they cannot break me, all the way asunder.

Then I bite my lip,

because I remember -

…all the hidden puzzle pieces,

that are strewn across my cluttered cognitive walls with plastered poems.

Let’s just make it a day of Papier-mâché!

The little editor man in my brain,

who paces far too much,

choked and ran out of the nearest door way he could find.