Coco

I walled myself in with paper three days ago. I used my old fashioned-blow torch to melt the door of my office shut, and pressed my desk and my chair up against it.

I can hear the party still going 

starting in the kitchen,

spilling into the dining room 

and out onto the deck 

I hear the sound of fizzy champagne filling crystal glasses

Being a dreamer is hard, for all of us. All the authors, poets, musicians, and artists.

For those who aren’t any of these let me explain it for you.