Choking down carbonated static
in a hopes that the bubbles can make me forget.
And hatred is a strong word,
but then again, so is love.
Friday's lurking in the alleys of this poem,
coursing through every red vein.
It wants out.
It's screaming to get out.
It's all just a silly emotion,
one of those teacup rides that you throw up from.
You don't want to be there,
but you're screaming and holding on all the same.
