It's not a chair, but I'm sitting on it

A taste of the sun's yellow

like salty metal

wasn't enough.

Intent to swallow the whole damn thing

pride burnt my tongue and mouth's roof

I hate cold, but like

the sinners in hell

I'd give anything for some ice

To hold my tongue as I grind it liquid

shockwaves rocking

the nerves

frozen in time.

I should've used synsodyne

or had the sense of mind to bring fresh wata

rather than jelly my gums and

numb the feeling.

Pooling atop the green humming box

a mess

together none the less.

Thank God, it's summer,

and I'll be home soon