Molded Opportunities

I sit in an inch or two of water, my belongings ruined, saturated and molded. You paint your nails and rebuild your flaws, a pair of needle nose pliers to release the pressure from your jaws. Frogs croak in the distance, the fog also lays persistent. Police do a perimeter check, we sold our souls for chocolate milk and an old tape deck. She does surgery on her limp wrist, passion kiss the bitch, a cardinal lands on a branch above. That smell, that feeling. I knew that something wouldn't spread or smear.