Summer heat
What is
this fu
cking weather?
Every
thing is
mel
ting
My hands
are dripping
as I type
My arm
pits squelch
when I move
My head
is
is
a swamp
I blink
and there are buckets
of brine
in my eyeballs
I feel
greasy all over
am I
a frying pan now?
I can’t
think
straight
or even bent
And you
You say
“Isn’t it glorious weather?”
You sick bastard