angry red sofa has its day

inktuition frayed leather sofa

The red of the leather, so plump at first

was anger at my loss of you.

A sofa bought on a whim and no prayer

landed in a space so skewed.

Seven years on, the rage has worn out,

as has the leather so sad.

What was once a feisty young thing

has withered to become an old hag.

No one wants her, she’s past her time,

that rage has burnt itself out.

All that’s left is the bits of her

that litter the vacuum’s tight butt.

My 200th post

I’d love my 200th post

To be full of love and stuff

But it comes from a place of rage:

someone who’s had enough

of doing the thinking for others

and always bowing her head.

Well, take it back, you ****ers:

we’re not long til we’re dead.