not Roast Beef, is it

Therefore

I am
words in chains
locked away to starve
in the dim-lit prison cell of my head

I am
wings I've carelessly clipped
false wings I made
of cement
rooted fast to dry ground
and bragged could fly me to the sun

I am
a poem I don't know how to finish
a story I'm afraid to start
a song no one sings
because I ripped up the chorus
and never bothered to write
the next verse

(DVAD 6-20)

dear summer: hi. now gtfo.

Ok, so 90 degrees out, that sucks as it is, right. But having it be 85 fuggin degrees in our offices today all damned day long *suuuuuucks aaaaassssss*. Lemme tell ya. In times such as those, even sitting in front of a fan does nothing (just like the goggles).

I wish they'd finish this stage of the construction and start turning on the damned air handlers/ac again soon. I thought it'd been uncomforably warm already. Oh ho ho. How ignorant I was. (Oh, but there's AC nights and weekends when the construction crews are gone, not super helpful to us M-F day folks. >( )