The Mad Bag Lady

I'd imagine the scene of them taking me

as something comically hostile

the familiar sound of a body bag

mistake for the sound of a joggers waterproof sweatpants.

They wouldn't know how hard I bit

until lunar looking bite marks appeared on their

chalky lifeless soul sucking skin.

The tides would be slightly higher that day

because my soul i ssomehow conected 

to the rhythmic flows of the sea.

My passion for hysteria

enraged in the breath taking flows

of salty waters.

My focus would be far removed from the scapes

of the terrestrial world,

into something far more beautiful and real

and that body bag they'd try to carry me in

would be just like 14 cans of baked beans

sitting deeply 

into a sorry grocery store's plastic bag.

And just win they think they've won.

I'll split.

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