Noises That Are Not White Poem by Jena Crowe

the toaster oven ticks constantly
reminding me something is almost ready to
burn my tongue
make me curse
wish everyone in the room has a bad day with me.

if coffee were the ocean
i'd live up in the hills
where i could still smell it,
but not have to drink or sail
along it's roasted popularity.

don't ask me to drink something
when i'm lightheaded- it only
makes you look like an imbecile.
there's a million symptoms out there
and the only one i want
is a coma,
or one that leads to death.