The Laze

My bones are like sandbags in my skin, my muscles and ligaments all straining to keep my avatar from collapsing.

I want to lay down and stay there. Buried underneath the pressure of things left undone.

Like wet clothes coiled in the musked hamper

and the kitchen sink that smells of egg and garlic.

Please, put me out my misery.

Give me magic and vice and the means to inflate myself back to life.