Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Morning Routine

My eyes part to a stale sun.  The air is made toxic from hours of unconscious flatulence and mouth breathing.  The taste of previously forgotten cigarettes remain dancing on the back of my throat.  I thrash through the cloth bindings in an effort to shut off what can only be described as the wailings of a digital child.  I will rest a bit before I give him another shake.  The brat’s screams echo within my brain once more. I grab him by the side and correct the behavior.  I heave his silent body to the corner of the room, I have no remorse.  I rise from my fabric grave and stare blankly at the bathroom door, it’s never felt so far away.  I stumble forward like a newborn calf, tripping over old hooves and hides I’ve discarded days before.  Each step toward the portal has my back straitening and my shoulders regally aligning themselves back, I am erect.  Like a king addressing his peasants, I stand before my throne.  I am rigid at first, but then I soften as I express what is to be the first of my actions.        

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