Amusing One's Self - Algebra Suicide

A fever crawls into you.

A colorful one.

Scarlet?

Yellow?

Too soon to tell

Restless and itchy, you grab any rumor that’s lounging around

Blame it on boredom or the position of stars.

Perhaps the good weather has made

your brain crazy

You write «Warsaw was raw» in lipstick on your old lover’s letter

Hold it up to a mirror, and delight in yourself

It’s easy, like sending a card to yourself on your birthday

And crying when you get it, 'cause «someone remembered!»

Like when you empty a bag of groceries onto the kitchen floor:

When the last apple stops rolling, you call it still life