Preboital

This is a thing.

You can come by and destroy my living room if you feel like it. I know you hate curtains so I made the windows naked. You can break all my chairs and put dish soap in my fish tank. You can scream like a nipple on a clothesline. Eat all my food and tell me I'm ugly. Buy me a sandwich and force-feed me in the shower. Tell me where you've been and your full-blown fears like a flower growing out of a vomited pile of breakfast.

If I only got fatter, and you lost all your bones, we could flop in a pile and melt in the sun. I don't mind if you turn off the lights and punch steaks in the dark and dream of cars giving birth. It couldn't hurt if you bought leather boots and started gambling with the trash man. You can come and pour bleach on the couch. You can paint the ceiling red and yell at the sink. Rearrange my music and buy zebra skeletons on sale. Tear out the cables and braid them out the window. I won't complain. Mess up my machine and get sick on the carpet. Sleep on the carpet. Take the carpet. Sell the carpet. Hump the carpet. Love the carpet. Dump the carpet. Give the carpet to Peruvian drug lords. Dance in a bucket with both legs in one short's leg hole. Round up all the moths in a cardboard box. Just come by.

Sweat through my t-shirts and cut up my sheets. Draw ants on the milk jug and yell hate speech in Dutch. Electrocute your doubts and put up masks on the dishes. Build a dictionary fort and peel onions on the roof. Lick the lion's mane and somersault in the ocean of a thousand rotting paintings of Ronald W. Reagan riding a rhinoceros in a sailor-suit! Leave on your leaf-cape and be leader of the ladel-brigade. Buy me a CD and a ham and book.

Just come by.