|I would rather.
I see your message, casually asking me for coffee
I reply, stating calmly that I am busy
A thick steam of rage condenses inside of me, slowly dripping concentrated droplets of anger into the pool of my being.
No. I do not want to come for coffee.
I would rather extract my own eyeballs,
Spend years perfecting the ancient art of yoga
Working ruthlessly, tirelessly, day after day
Just so that I could fuck the socket,
Than share a hot beverage in your company
I care not for the civil distance-hug and air kiss we would share,
The civilities where we attempt to subtly put across our respective superiority,
The urge twitch my hands would get to throw my hot beverage into your cold, mocking eyes.
And the insinuation when it had all finished that we are just fine now.
That you can call me a friend.
I really would rather.
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