Percolate.
Ideas are rising through a thick black sludge, gathering stimulants on their way to the surface. Did coke really used to have…who knows.
“Sweetie you think this coffee will be done tonight?”
“You could fuctin’ make it yourself.”
My soul is dope-sick, hungover from vomiting dreams into a waste basket i like to live in. Rent is cheap.
“Baby did, coke really used to have?”
“Cocaine, yes my love.”
I knew it.
My eyes are tied to logging chains and my head is full of rigs and fits and set ups.
I need to write now while i can scream, before i fall into it.
“Baby i would fight a freakin ninja for some coffee.”
“Go do it. Wait you hear that?…. its done.”
“Baby.”
“No mutha fucter i made it you fix it. That is the only thing your getting from Columbia so you better enjoy it.”
“Baby i gotta finish this before my brain settles down and i write like Elsha.”
“You wish you wrote like Elsha.”
Good thing people believe in me.
“Drink the damn coffee, and answer April’s IM, here’s your coffee baby.”