This bag of cookies is watching me hatefully. It’s smashed and leaking crumbs and chocolate chips. It is a neon sign flashing the truth of my violence and irrationality. It proves your point.
It sailed through the air like a wounded, angry bird. It hit the wall over your shoulder and showered you with sweet sand and REVOLUTION.
I just won’t stand for it anymore.
Look, you can kiss me if you want to. I am arguing underneath the point. My body is all in knots for your snarling face.
Maybe nothing is better.