finsh
I'm waiting out the rain at work. I'm waiting out the traffic too but I figure once the rain passes, everyone will stop reacting to water falling from the sky like it isn't a natural process and finally make it home.
I want to go home but I don't think I should be there today. There's a nest of clean and dirty clothes I've woven into a nest on the floor there by some latent instinct I don't seem to notice until I'm knee deep in T-shirts and jeans. I hope this means I will lay eggs soon. What kind of offspring will be spawned is a question I cannot answer though I assume it will not be human or for that matter, any sort of living thing.
Other people wear sadness better than I do. Most do I guess. At least the ones I see. They can tell me they've been crying and I just want to go to them and hold them around the shoulders. But today I'm looking in the mirror and see a scary person you wouldn't want holding you close under any circumstance. My seemingly psychotic glare from my cavernous eyes, my underweight body, ribcage peeking out through the fabric of my shirt, my paint covered pants that aren't fooling anyone into thinking I may be an artist (what artist only paints in white latex?) my dirty, unkept hair full of dry skin bits and oily at the same time--a long work in process. If I were to try and console you in a time of need, you'd not only not feel better, you'd also be shivering with discomfort the second I was out of sight.
But there is something inside me that feels like hunger without the emptiness. As big as a bowling ball but as worthless as one without holes...
I want to go home but I don't think I should be there today. There's a nest of clean and dirty clothes I've woven into a nest on the floor there by some latent instinct I don't seem to notice until I'm knee deep in T-shirts and jeans. I hope this means I will lay eggs soon. What kind of offspring will be spawned is a question I cannot answer though I assume it will not be human or for that matter, any sort of living thing.
Other people wear sadness better than I do. Most do I guess. At least the ones I see. They can tell me they've been crying and I just want to go to them and hold them around the shoulders. But today I'm looking in the mirror and see a scary person you wouldn't want holding you close under any circumstance. My seemingly psychotic glare from my cavernous eyes, my underweight body, ribcage peeking out through the fabric of my shirt, my paint covered pants that aren't fooling anyone into thinking I may be an artist (what artist only paints in white latex?) my dirty, unkept hair full of dry skin bits and oily at the same time--a long work in process. If I were to try and console you in a time of need, you'd not only not feel better, you'd also be shivering with discomfort the second I was out of sight.
But there is something inside me that feels like hunger without the emptiness. As big as a bowling ball but as worthless as one without holes...