a poem presented in a particular way

Fuck Me. And fuck this coffee shop.

The last chips of glitter stick to my fingernails.
(I know, I should quit.
 Microplastics only photo-
 degrade into smaller bits.)

Life is a beautiful Cupcake
with an exquisite rose,
such delicate folds,
impressive in buttercream.

Then a cockroach falls,
from an open cabinet door
into its midst.


The comfortable chairs are never free
because somehow I'm too nervous to sit in them.

The thought, a human might
land near to me.
It falls under fear, this morning,
but disgust is always a possibility.