Talking About Myself

Is terribly boring. Maybe that’s why I find this difficult to do.

I’ll just make shit up instead.

The dogs lies sleeping, drool on the floor
Sleep barks from imaginary knocking on the door
This isn’t made up, this is my life
I’ll have to cut these ropes with a knife

The knife isn’t bad in this metaphor

Bloody hell

Neither was the knock on the door

The dogs are no longer asleep, they are loudly awake