Sometimes I feel like a tornado.

At first calm. Then a little breeze pushes things around making them all seem clear. An electrical storm that lasts and lasts. The biggest of the darkest clouds stuck in its own mad frenzy. Gathering up energy and enveloping everything in the night. Taking even the dark of the midnight sky. Blowing a constant gust exhaust. Growing into a monster that surly will rip morning to pieces.

It's my sandwich meat that's gone bad prematurely.
It's the lack of proper mayonnaise.
It's the cab fare to work and the thirty mile long train and the meter running and the grinning face in the rear view.
It's this dusty place again.
The false heroes.
The new victims.
It's my phone company with their large paws and
all the automated voices
customer service like only I could dream it.
It's the guy who asks how your mother is coping twenty times a day and drop in next time for a visit.
I hate visits.
I've never hated them more than I do at this moment, as a matter of fact.
It's the small talk, like a dull rusty spoon digging at my intelligence.
It's the guy who pronounces it Hy-tachi and who thinks the cure for those that bitch and moan is whisky.
It's those that never cease to bitch and moan.
It's those riddled with ignorance.
It all just spirals.