Untitled spoken word, unfinished

 Being in the grocery store when you're sad feels like you're on another planet. There are so many people wandering the aisles, all in the own heads, living in their own realities. Like me. The lights are too bright and I can hear my broken heart beating louder than the instrumental ABBA from the ceiling. No, I don't feel like dancing. I just want some raisin bran. And a decent melon.

I can't be here anymore.

It doesn't have to be decent; I'll settle for edible.

I can't be here anymore.

Ok fuck it. They have no melons.

I can't be here anymore.

Or the raisin bran I like. Extra scoops.

I can't be here anymore. 

I start to cry. I leave my basket in the open shipping box of oranges and leave by the nearest exit. 

Fuck it. I'll have peanut butter and jelly. Again.


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