horny kamikaze nuns howling on the football pitch

where do you stop these things anyway? starting is getting easier
but now I'm nervous,
slightly
like I'm putting skates on and haven't learned how to brake yet
(break hope I don't break I might)
I know I'll stop eventually, one way or another
it's that trust we all have
things have a way of working out
and that pesky little voice that says
do they though? do they really?
nobody ever started a thing and then did it for the rest of their lives without stopping
I mean eventually I'd have to go to sleep
I think could do this on the bus or the toilet, but not in the shower
case in point, I'm on the toilet right now
imagine! a book you could never stop reading
literally
the warnings stamped on the front ignored - UNPUTDOWNABLE!
when you got to the end you'd have to flip to the beginning again.
...or you'd find yourself there like magic.
... ... or the book just wouldn't end, more pages appearing faster than you could read them
... ... ... or how about this, [story idea] a story you can't stop writing
a cursed typewriter might be a little old hat, so let's give our frazzled writer an evil pen
now is it a compulsion or will the penbury [story idea, set in a village called Penbury] -bury itself in his throat if he stops
(sit at your desk and bleed)
I always did think those fountain pens looked wicked-sharp
we had to use them in primary school
it's surprising we didn't stab each other more often really
[story idea gang of eleven year old thugs armed with fountain pens]
hang on I left the tap running...
...
...
What a waste. that was terrible of me. maybe I should do nine nail marys or something. or is that a catholic thing? or a football thing? Last ditch attempt, Kamikaze effort? [story idea: football team of kamikaze nuns] ...wait! that should be HAIL MARYS. oh dear, now the nuns have moved on from playing football. (That's football, we don't call it soccer.) why does my brain always do this?
if I was going to do penance (pennants, snapping in a strong breeze, colours and trumpets) then mentally defiling a pack of nuns would be what I'd need to do it for.
(running through the forest howling, hunting down... filing cabinets?
welcome newcomer what's your name? Susan? Mind if we call you Mary? We're all called Mary here...)
I don't own a hair shirt
maybe I should do extra recycling?
but we already recycle everything we can. hmmm. I'd have to create more waste on purpose (waist on a porpoise) and that's no good
I even threw out that nice jar (throughout)... It was a REALLY nice jar. Squat and round with a red and white checkered lid. (I must buy more cherry jam.) Always makes me think of picnics. Genius marketing really. But then the wind usually blows your in your face right when you're about to take a bite of your egg and cress sandwich and there's nowhere comfy to sit and you think, a tiny miserable killjoy bit of yourself says "this would be so much better if I was at home. Indoors."
Anyway, I threw that nice jar out so I'd say I'm probably about even for all that water.
better not tell anyone about the nuns.
and there
that's a good place to stop isn't it
please stop please my head feels wrung out like a wet flannel
and I don't know what those nuns might do next.

BTW, I did get off the toilet, somewhere around the point I gave the writer a cursed pen.