Stress

what i do to cope with stress

Throbbing temple. Near constant self-loathing. Expletive. Barren fridge; a sustenance wasteland. Well, it’s nice outside, what with sun hugs and zephyr kisses. Might as well stroll a bit! Cracked spines call my name, haunting whispers of forgotten lore. Smells like ink. I’ve got a sixth finger, you know. It’s tipped with graphite and topped with a kneading tool. Sometimes I have seven, and it’s wet and colorful and I caress canvas with it. Expletive. Hugs, naps, smiling, happy. Life is good.