I exist in this space
where I can hear
the twentysomething moments
of my youth
in their desperate clamor
to be heard
to be validated
as something worthy
of taking up valuable resources
like breathing room
and the ability to walk
and perhaps
have an opinion
of my own
They chatter and sing
while waiting
for the inevitable flood,
while waiting
for the flush.
While waiting
for the end.

About Catastrophe Jones

Wretched word-goblin with enough interests that they're not particularly awesome at any of them. Terrible self-esteem and yet prone to hilarious bouts of hubris. Full of the worst flavors of self-awareness. Owns far too many craft supplies. Will sing to you at the slightest provocation.
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