A Dog Returning to Its Vomit.

I've been keeping up with NaPoWriMo. Around this time last year is when I started to falter, but it's been going well. Last night it was hard to force the words to come out like I wanted them to, and free-writing just wasn't working, so I pretty much vomited on the page and shrugged it off.

But I like the result.

a foaming mouth

a raging soul

spastic teeth chewing at my stomach

phlegm and synonyms

ripping through my clenched mouth

I'll make this personal,

I'll make

a pile of steam and raw meat

pre-rolled in grey matter

hand-carved, half-digested

holy mother of God,

I hate poetry.

I'm growing my nails out, since there hasn't been any music lessons for a couple weeks, and nail polish makes me happy. It may be the fumes. I'll enjoy this while I can. Next week is Fine Arts and that means they have to go; next week is convention and Hershey Park and midnight ice cream parties. I'm excited; I'm ready.

And then Easter, and a new dress to wear. Is it wicked to love the new dress every Easter?