Today I ate expired cinnamon buns and golgi apparatuses. Oh, and I ate a couple of smooth endoplasmic reticulums too. I licked the ribosomes...but they didn't taste spicy or anything.

I'm going to write a poem...because I feel like it.

His hands encircled her throat,
his eyes drowned her.
His hand felt hot on her cheek,
like she had been splashed with boiling water.
But it was just another day.
She sat beside him,
in the park.
His hands encircled hers.
His dream-like eyes never left hers.
Her cheek resting softly against his.
It was just another day.
She was dying.
She was living.
He was hate.
He was love.
He was just another day.