So, I'm talking to depression and I'm like blah blah blah, whatever, Sabrina who?

I am whatever you last called me in my head, you know.

Except I'm not nothing, I have a heavy pulse which is a kind of thing like zippity-doo-dah.

Between my orgasms I try not to cry.

I laugh at all the jokes my friends say to me.

On my birthday I asked my grandmother for an apple pie.

I draw a lot of lines, they don't mean a thing to you.

You are this invisible bone that I caught and I can't stop writing poem about, I mean living.

I am the strangest of days, same as you, who cares? I'm really just trying to be less predictable.

Anyway, you slip me a fog.

You are molasses or something like molasses.

I am softer than I think you are, even if I have a mouth like a smoking gun that does not know where the bullets went.