“5:53 p.m. Sunday.”

The apartment is filthy today.
I have been distracted,
trying to write
but these
are the first words I have managed.
I should clean the kitchen,
empty the sink of dishes
so that
I may fill the sink
again.
My stomach protests loud;
Hurting me.
I have not eaten since breakfast,
when I made myself
one
thick slice of French toast
and one
pan fried banana;
Drizzled the vanilla extract,
Grated the nutmeg,
Dashed the cinnamon,
Poured on the maple syrup;
Tasted awesome.
I should eat again soon.
I should clean
myself
or this mess
or both.
But I have a feeling
that if I only keep going,
keep typing,
keep trying,
this one might become
worth
wasting the day for.

narrative poem written on 06-13-2010 by: on mattkane.com
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