Monday, November 22, 2010

stoned becos i'm sad

i'm sitting on a toilet seat
glancing at the door
then down to the floor

i slouch forward
and stretch back
and i'm lucky if
the sensor behind me
doesn't assume i'm
getting up when i'm not

cos otherwise
the water will
splash up to my
ass cheeks and
the idea of that
doesn't go well
with my
facial expression

and my stomach
churns as though
elbowing me for
not eating a proper
meal instead of
bravely venturing for
a cup of tooth
and coffee

and the people around me
arouse my attention and
then my disdain

and i want to clear up for myself how i feel
but i can't stop nudging myself from the thoughts
that (a) maybe i'm unhappy
and (b) i'm being dramatic

i haven't a real sense of reality
i'm really just roaming the city
in a costume, getting stoned
in as many crevices i can hide in

and i always want to write something
and i want it to sound good all the time
and i want it to make sense, too
and i also want it to be deeply thought out
and i want it to be clever and witty
and suddenly, i don't hold my writing
at such a high regard, and so i stop thinking about writing
and i just sit there, where i may be, and stare
and slowly, sometimes, i'll just stop thinking

sometimes, though, i could just
pick up a pen and begin to write
and i will like what i'm writing about
and the way i'm writing it and i'll be so happy
at my expressive nature and i'll be proud of myself
and eventually i'll stop writing
and walk away from that moment feeling good
and just as eventually, i'll forget i ever wrote anything
and whatever i wrote, however neatly i may have written it
will go on to exist in vain, stowed away and out of sight

i'm inclined to listen to vinyl records
because i have a small collection of them
and occassionally i might summon all the energy in my being
to put one on the plate spinner and place the needle gently on a groove
and i could listen intently, appreciating even the smallest sounds
that leap and swim all around the air tickling my ear drums

some times i might sit at a computer and
get carried away with it's functions so attentively
that i lose my being in time and when i finally snap
out of the trance i succumb to i find my ass to be aching
at the slightest shift of weight.

i've got to get up
and move out
before the floor
sinks below me
and i'll feel bugs
crawling about my
head and neck
for ever.

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