Last month, a cat swallowed my tongue.
He purred incoherent meows down my throat.
A baby bubbled the alphabet backwards: Z, Y, X, W etc.

"Do you want to buy Viagra?" Asks a vibrant email.
"Please become my bride," begs another.
It is spam: the unwelcoming, non-edible kind.
Delete. Delete. Delete.

I'm a whirlpool of distructured emotions.
The crushing centre of a black hole.
Violate. Torment. Discontinue. Surmount.
Pardon? I think you woke up on the wrong side of bed, sweetie.
Please speak slowly. Preferably in English.

I'm defined by my broken promises and nonsensical words.
This is steganography or maybe drunken Morse code.
Decipher the message and you will be rewarded.
A hot mug of chocolate and a plate of broccoli, because veggies are healthy.
Darling, let's pretend we never happened.
Because, I can't decide whether to place memories in a safe or down the rubbish chute.