by Ben Spivey
At the foot of my bed, at night, my television reads me info and static. My television tells me who just died, when to laugh, and what I need to be afraid of. My television cooks and eats spaghetti for and with me, I say, “Thank you that tasted good.” My television stays awake with me, even after it gets black rings around its eyes. We take showers together (in warm water) and make love afterwards. My television is at the foot of my funerary box.
Ben Spivey is a full time student and writer living in Atlanta, Georgia. He works at a cluttered desk, drinks too much coffee, and doesn't get enough sleep.