Short Stories

I wrote as I lay in bed last night, the way I have not written in years. It's as if Yang by the simple act of bombarding me with all this good reading had WD-40'ed the little rusted tin wheel that that the hamster in my head runs on. I don't hear it squeaking anymore. It could be that he just stopped pissing on it or maybe he got himself a new wheel. The other one corroded as it was from years of urine. He's a fucking lazy hamster he couldn't be bothered to stop running long enough to do his business neatly and discreetly in the corner. Maybe he didn't want to lose his momentum.
Yang declared the "F word" the word of the day, I agreed it must be, I seemed to be using it a lot. My head is filled with tales and I know the beginnings and the endings and what come between the two and I want to write them down and share them. They have been waiting to come out and serve a purpose. They have been in my head so long just mucking up my clarity They wan t to come out and play, I just keep telling them no, that the weather is bad and that they have not finished their chores. I keep making excuses and they are getting restless and making my head throb. They are suppose to be picking up their toys but they are writing on the walls.