Toast. Or. Sink.

HUMOR & SATIRELONELINESSDEPRESSION

Electric veins in porcelain skin,

I throw my toaster in to see if it can swim.

Strapped in floaties, this isn’t a joke,

Plugged into the current, watch the bathroom choke,

Chrome fangs sparking, little red glow,

I baptize my kitchenware, let the current flow.

TOAST. OR. SINK.

Cables in the water, holy ghost,

Skin is burning, wires corrode,

Drown your sins in the overload.

The bathtub hums like a tortured hive,

Toaster convulses, barely alive,

The smell of iron, the taste of ash,

Every pop is thunder, every spark a lash.

Maybe the blender will learn to float…

Maybe the microwave will slit its throat…

But my toaster’s grave is white enamel,

Ceramic tomb, electrical mammal.

Black water rising, circuits scream,

A holy execution dressed in steam,

Glass eyed sockets, chrome decay,

I drown my silence in the noise I made.

Porcelain prison, conductor’s grave,

Electric choir sings what I can’t save,

Ash on my fingers, sparks in my veins,

Teaching the current to forget my name.

TOAST. OR. SINK.

Static prayers, this holy ghost,

Bath of fire, bathtub flood,

Sacrament of copper blood.

Toast or sink…

Toast or sink…