Episodic?
Oh, yes please.

I fall apart.I hit the road.
I’m only as good as the charge on my mp3 player.
I take the long way home.

I am music, really,really bad music, until the tiny hours of morning.
(techno beats and everything)
Diet Mt.Dew has yet to equal a bubbly cure for insomnia.
Just thought I’d experiment.

A little reverse psychology.

It’s still just fizzy fruit juice laced with crack.
My heart feels like it will explode upon consumption.

I have pages of words, but I can’t find them.
How can I tell your mother of the ways I loved you?
How can the words I tell your father ever surface the way they sit honest and true and big in me?

We seem to be novella.