Fatty Cells

There’s nothing left for me to say

At least I can hope now that I haven't been sinking long enough in the pool of my thoughts that it's not too far to perhaps get my head above water again.

But I’m endlessly here still swimming alone my own thoughts and the endless show and tell where you never let me have my turn;

so I churn churn churn all alone.

Suckling from my own teat,

sustaining myself with the butter I make from pounding pounding the cream of my thoughts that somehow still don't have to wait to grow rancid.

The fatty cells of my brain.

Unable to mix with the water that at least I can trust to sustain the rest of my body.

No blood for oil,

so my sweat and tears can’t pay for the work of keeping my head above water.

But I thought that physics say that oil is supposed to float on water,

so why do I have to fight so hard still to take a breath?