Forget me nots

Hunched, head rested on white tiles, feet firmly on heated floor
I type,
not because it feels nice, or isolates the thoughts in my brain
but because, for whatever reason, I haven't dropped by
anywhere, in any capacity, in a while
and with a style dripping in tiredness and awkward grace
I can pop a few words into the Deep
and hope they drown there, quickly,
under the weight of an ill tempered seagull
and this day will bleed into a night, and another, and another,
filled with sodomy, being a Mother, quietly humming, buzzing even,
as the garden tumbles on, as a sharp axe through monotony.
Yes, I pop by every now and again
because this life I have
is almost entirely caused by the reflection and attention I give here
and everything needs tending to,
care and respect,
once in a while.