Broken razors, empty gastank

Waiting, fixating on this lazy situation, fixating on this over large stomach grumble I can’t cook jack and this patched face with bits of hair sticking out front and back with smoothness all about. Still in love with out a doubt, got a cut on my finger still alive with out a doubt. I’m Not clean enough and I have no hot water to lament upon. Just live cold love and a solid brick of soap, it’s okay being alive though, that’s how you know you’re alive. Appreciate being alive and allocate those moments when you feel like you should die to appreciate being alive.

Broken machine, spark fizzed out. Maybe the filters clogged maybe the power is bogged maybe my clothes were just too damn dirty to be cleaned and the washing machine just gave up. It just didn’t have the tenacity and the appreciation. Of being appreciated by being tenacious. It just gave. It didn’t relish it’s glory as my little saviour what made my nights by myself longer. What made my arms not sorer. What made my clothes not whiter but at least clean. I loved it, but it didn’t love itself, it was a victim. Used just used with no other purpose then to be used