I bought a pot (and a friendship)


It was a good pot, a companion.

I used it often to make all sorts of things.

Then I turned this pot to the lowest of the low and made it a fry pot always full, always dirty.

One day this pot’s time was up.

I let it sit emptied, still dirty.

One day it was cleaned, scrubbed, scrubbed, scrubbed, and one day it was clean again.

DAY

DAY

DAY

If you can read this, DAY.

Existence is painful,

When you see others loose it.

(in dedication of a passed friend, who ended their own existence)