I walked away.
The fan was too loud.
Blaring in my face,
freezing my arms.

I opened up a word document,
started typing this tripe,
hoping that I’d be able to block it out.
It ain’t even warm in here.

Tyranny. It hurts, please make it stop!
Remove the fuse, I will.
Cut the wire.
Throw it out the window.
Maybe get the dog to piss on it.

It freezes me, stresses me. Eats away at me.
It fucks with any remaining sanity.
I write to gain sanity.
Like Edward Roivas drinks his homebrew,
I write.

Nothing scholarly, nothing great,
I just write.
Then I read.
Write. Read. Drink mead.

Wear tweed?
Eh, not quite.
Potato blight.
Now I’m just writing stuff.

And noise.
That fucking noise, it’s driving me nuts.
I’m gonna kill it.
HELP!