Nag Champa

Burning incense has become sort of a rite in my room.


Every Sunday.


A funeral party for the week, I guess.


And I try to unwind, and usually it works to some extent. Plus, I usually play In the Aeroplane Over the Sea and scream along to all of the words.


I usually lie down on the carpet I vacuumed earlier in the day.


By the last song I'm usually screaming as loud as I can.


I really wish this week was over.


I want to feel my throat rip and ache and cough out all the smoke.


I want to sit up high in my branches.


And relax.