Rusted Coffee Can of Feelings

I want to use adjectives ending in -ent that contain odd combinations of consonants: lambent, nascent. But none of them are pertinent. 

I want to wrap my body around the dollar fifty bottle of Wet n Wild Basic Beach I bought at the dollar store and let it fill the hollow inside me. 

I feel slow, like a personification of the art project of people covered in honey. The CD skips in blatant opposition to this feeling. Mindless Self Indulgence stutters along. 

I had stories to tell but they’ve changed their minds. 

The air smells of poverty and mud. 

Not going to the grocery store for garlic feels less like self-care and more like petty, misplaced passive aggression.  I don’t care; I’m not going. 

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