Baby koala, you, me and the starving children

I don't know why but when I think of baby koala bears clinging to trees I think of you.
And when I think of you I think of me. Because everything revolves around me.

That's selfish to say. I feel bad for saying it. But its only a momentary feeling. Like watching
those commercials with the starving children and abused animals. I feel bad only in fleeting moments.
Once the channel is switched everything is back to being ok, for me. Sorry.

I am very American. My happiness is my top priority. My 'birth right' or something. It is very bad
to admit that I think that. I should win a noble prize. Not for peace but for pieces.

"He is very complex, a puzzle." The noble peace prize comity all nod in agreement. Synonymously.

I am awesome, I think to myself at 12:21 am. And you are just a koala bear clinging to a tree.

One day we will both die and knowing this is the only way I can get through the day

Feel like being 'uncharacteristic'
like saying 'fuck you' on the phone
or sending you a postcard with
obscene words and writing p.s. these
are my feelings.

One day I will wake up and there
wont be thoughts about you at 4am.

Or I wont be writing about waking up
and thinking about you at 4am.

I will send you a letter that says "fuck
your merry christmas, I hope you die
at 4 am, on a weekend or something."

I don't want to die.

When the world explodes I will feel
comfort in knowing that you are somewhere
exploding too.

Because when I think  I love you
I hope I mean I don't.

I don't
I wont
I don't
I wont
I don't

Out of control

You were sitting down reading a book. I was reading a book too.
My book was probably better than yours.  It feels bad to write that.
It felt good to think it. I am pretty self-indulgent. I hate myself very much.
I apologize more than a Japanese waiter. I feel like shit. Like when you
flush your toilet. Why are you pushing me away? I don't know why I exist.
In fact I believe I don't.

I remember seeing you before I 'knew' you. I liked you better then. Pretty smile and not so bitchy. If I could tell you the truth I'd sound really bitter. Don't make me make sense. I feel like condensed soup. I hate my microwave. Sometimes on days like this I forget what I started writing about. I lose focus. Out of touch. 

A mother tells her son "You are out of control," the son tells his dog "you are out

of control." Its a vicious cycle. We are all out of control. Crying or wanting to. Smile.

Future of text, a future text.

I can feel an idea surfacing
surfacing through a body of text.
A body I text, a body I texted.
A paragraph I wrote in the back
of my throat.

Itchy, cant scratch.
Mentally detached.
Sing a haiku, a poem
for you, from me, from
him, anonymous kin.

Everyone shares one fountain.
Wealth and knowledge. Festive?

Its creative. To think.
Honey I shrunk my brain,
with pills.

I think I killed the kids?
In my stomach?
with words?
in the future?
I hate you?
No, your father?
I hate him?

I'm sorry?

Tonight in your room clouds spell your doom.

The world is a fucked up place

Go hide in your sheets, or someone

Else's sheets. You don't own any sheets.

Go cry or something. Go try and be positive.

After 6 beers and a couple pizzas. Go throw

Up because you cant stand the idea of

Your stomach being full.

Kids in Africa starve.

You don't care.

You just don't like

The idea of getting fat.

Apathy, for everyone else.

Laugh. Try not to care.

You don't care. You repeat over and over

In a quiet monotone while watching discovery

Channel.

You are bored.

Spike tv.

You are bored.

Disney.

You are bored.

Read a book.

You are bored

Go to sleep.

You cant sleep.

Seems like you're fucked.

Existentially.

Physically.

You don't know what to do.

Just feel like something should be done.

Fuck.

You say out loud.

You imagine words

Forming clouds.

Above, over

Your head

Your bed

Black

Kinda gray

Large

Clouds.

Its raining.

Pretend rain.

You are wet.

Soaking wet.

Soggy socks,

Draining shoes

With nothing to lose.

You are fucked.

small defeat

Got home from work and smoked a cigarette.
I didn't really feel like smoking but felt the 'need'
to smoke because I had nothing else to do.

Spongebob is on the tv. Nobody home.
I feel 'lonely' in a quiet and melodramatic way.

Like I will never watch spongebob with someone
I like a lot...

I don't like spongebob and its making me feel even
lonelier but I can't find the remote to turn it off and
I'm feeling lazy and melodramatic. I can't muster up
the energy needed to get up and turn it off.

Feels like 'physical contact' with the TV will cause my
arm to fall off.

Feel like I should masturbate despite not having the 'will'
to do so, so I won't.

I won't masturbate right now.

Staring at my phone screen.

Thinking 'text' but the idea of 'texting' someone feels like
'small defeat' and the idea of thinking 'small defeat' itself feels
like 'small defeat'.

Chill, bro...

I don't know.

Text Message.

Felt like writing something short and sweet and sending it to your inbox,
for you to glance over, for you to ignore and delete. A simple little message
that says a lot of little things.

But whatever I won't. You don't deserve what I have to say.
I know this, I know this, but I feel the need to do it anyway.

But I won't.
But I won't
But he won't
But I won't.

But he...

Stares at a blank text screen, not writing anything.

In your room with Microsoft Word

We spent half of the night writing to each
other in an open Microsoft Word Document
on your laptop. We didn't speak. Just typed in
silence. Words too silly for actual verbal speech.
But in the context of Microsoft Word it all seemed
'good' or 'important' or 'sentimental'.

We looked at each other, in silence. Eyes locked.
Knowing things. Things we didn't know we knew.
And it was kind of great.

And you typed things I will never repeat. Things that 
still haunt my sleep, things I will never repeat. Things
that weren't true, things you didn't mean. Because how
could you mean any of that when here I am typing this
up? Haunted by words that you threw up to make me smile,
to make me respond, to make me crazy.

Some time later, the next day we had our first kiss. And I knew
then that it was the end of something great. Great but not all real.
Something great but not all real that I still feel.

Babies who are doctors with insect arms.

I will collapse on my own face.
My body will fall, my face will be
smashed, on a rug, on concrete or
maybe but not likely on wood.
and there will be blood, maybe a
lot, maybe a little, maybe a little
more than expected, maybe less
than what was not expected.

I will collapse and pray that I am
knocked unconcious. I don't want
to feel a thing.I want to just dream or
something. And wake up in a hospital
surrounded by doctors.

Doctors that are babies with tiny insectesque
arms and fake mustaches.

I want them to tell me to not worry. That I will be
ok and I will feel good and safe despite the doctors
abnormalities because they have degrees and I have
nothing but a broken nose and social anxiety.

Realization or something

It took

~12 minutes

for me to

realize

that you are just

out of focus

or

range

or 

key

a screwed up concept

a fucked up melody

I don't want to hear

your noise

or

experience your

'vision'

or

dis(ab)solve in

your 

'wisdom'

I just want

to hold your hand

or

hear "I understand"

or 

"I really really care."

But all I get are

expecting glances

and dissapointment.

Fuck.

The 'dog'; 'chain of command'

The 'dog' broke his promise to the 'chain of command'
the chain of command was pissed re the broken promise.
The 'dog' was pissed re the 'chain of command' being pissed.
it was a cycle. empty and hollow. Like most basic human
emotions or reasons or excuses and crutches.

The 'dog' was in a bad mood. The 'Chain of command'
was pissy and drunk. They didn't talk much that night,
to each other. Just groans and moans, no hugs.

In the morning they drank coffee. Not together, just in
the same room.

The 'dog' felt like he could 'hate' the 'chain of command'
the 'chain of command' felt the same.

The 'chain of command' thought about her childhood. She thought
about her father, or her lack of a father.

He wasn't there.

The 'dog' had a father. 

It just felt like he wasn't there.

The 'chain of command' left for work.

The 'dog' stayed home and washed dishes.

Later they would 'forgive' each other and 'love' each other again.

"I'm sorry I broke my promise," the 'dog' would say. Not
fully meaning it.

"No its ok, I'm sorry," would respond the 'chain of command'
not really believing him.

They would make up and spend the night in mental soliloquy, thinking,
wondering what the next few years would be like together.

Will

I felt this great urge to smash my face against
the wall, and scream obscene things at life or
the world or something. But the urge went away.
Some place. Safe... or far. far enough so that
my 'will' could never find it.

my 'will' gives up easily.

I have a distinct feeling of 'sad rage' bottled up.
I feel the desire to ejaculate angrily. I will
assert my power in my mind. vividly.

On the wall, face, nothing but chipped paint, smashed.
will gives up. easy.

Fuck this 'shit'

I feel like I will live till 100 as punishment for
something my parents did.

And I will see the world be destroyed by millions of tiny
robots designed by Apple.

And they will eat my body because I am 'organic'.