Whistling and grinning like a fool with no sense of moderation as I air my dirty laundry in public isolation. Its’s a lovely [ugly] day for it after all [is said and done]


The birds are singing [pretty raven] and the [acid] rain is falling and the sky is a very beautiful mournful dull grey.

I like the rain [washes away].

I like grey skies [promises something].

And clouds? Clouds? Don’t clouds inspire poets like nobody’s business? [I have no idea.] Clearly [I am no poet].

There’s nothing wrong with that. It’s fine.

I don’t have to be. Nobody asked and after all, gray suits.


If I can just exercise a little patience in this moment of stark staring [raving] anger [grief] I could rescue myself from so much regret [deferred].

Maybe I’ll save it up for something spectacular.


Written by a human person [I am not a robot].


P.S. Of course I could just wash my dirty laundry [bleach].