by Dawnell Harrison
The day was bent
Like a sheet of metal
And drifted in
With pockets of rain.
I contemplated my
To do list with a scent
Of contempt and
Drank my vanilla coffee slowly.
The day tasted like
Twisted metal
And felt like
Old bread in my pantry.
I tried to think
Good thoughts,
But they faded as I
Looked at my peach-colored
Nails that were chipped
Like an antique tea cup.

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