Goodbye history,
that sticky tar stuck on my big toe
holding down my whole foot.

Your taste lingers in my mouth like burnt popcorn.
Smelly.

You never hustle, but slink,
slowly away,
like a spider-ridden sloth.
Dirty and dusty, my crusty eye slits open and
close. Sluggishly. Forget.
Won't.
A vise
between my ears.

My kitchen sink
and moldy dishes soak.
I can't wait to rip
the rubber plug away from its hole.

Entire headaches issue from one thought.