To Much Caffeine
It was an early rise, that I drew back the curtain on the autumn's frost. Watching shadows in the sky, of madmen on carousels. Realizing, I was losing my sanity. "Or, was it too much caffeine!"
My wife was having none of it, because she was dead. Trussed up in bed like a turkey. Sucking on a lollipop with a hole in her head. A hole, that I could stick my tongue through and taste her brains. They were delicious, like pickled herring. And I didn't have a fishing license. Just an old lotto scratch-off card.
The green flies were settling in for a long winter, but I had a bug zapper attached to her toes. A recording of Blue Velvet was softly playing as her rapture turned to decay. Like marmalade with embryos. While her snot became a stalagmite.
Something I could hang my hat on. It was a ten-gallon Stetson, I wore when riding my knucklehead Harley. It was now in the pawnshop along with my Norelco razor, and Captain Marvel Decoder ring.
That was the third hole this week. Her eye ligaments were hanging to her chin and her Tammy Faye lashes fell into her goop. But she had the sense to wink as I applied body putty to her wrecked skull.
The putty made it appear that she had hubcaps. Like the old Dodge, parked in the garage. Along side a hearse and a cable car to Mars.
"Or, was it too much caffeine!"