helium joy

blown out of proportion

Half tonne, two tonne, bring the cradle, bring the rum. Laugh behind the table, behind the screen, call it competent, call it able. The rule of thumb becomes the ruler of thumbs. Perception swerves, dances upon vapour before sliding into thinning waiver. Skewed into chicken kebabs. No telling how they’ll taste, really, other than charred and bitter. Suck the veins from inside my mind, go on. Don’t bother using a single-use straw, they’ll shame you until compliance. Reveal the architect who yields in defiance! Point more fingers as you sink into the couch announcing a belch. Jolly good! Yet a hearty chuckle will not suffice. Parasitic components eat away—gnawing, chewing, spitting until swallowing me whole. So where did the sound come from? The very peep begging to be exposed, suppressed. Is the voice not meant for using? Alas, only distress.

A singing bird interrupts with a soothing chirp. The aggressive belch now a gentle burp. Tears don’t sting, they well; becoming salty against my lips. Not quite quenching thirst but instead connecting the tongue to the flavour of emotion.