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\viewkind4\uc1\pard\ul\f0\fs20 The Context Of...\par
\ulnone\par
\i\f1 picking at my peeling cuticles\par
the pain so disproportionate if\par
you consider the size of my fingers.\par
I do consider.\par
\par
playing air guitar in \par
a disturbing fashion with \par
a pen top, fading off into \par
"space," smiling because I \par
know I'll be famous.\par
\par
These are the things I do \par
behind my drawn blinds,\par
drawing, formulating regret,\par
recalling conversations \par
where I rushed the words\par
I analyze to death.\par
\par
Convince myself that\par
I'll convince my friends\par
soon enough that \par
I'm worthy \par
of the time spent \par
wasting time that\par
we'll forget.\par
\par
Telling them I was \par
writing and reading,\par
studying and thinking,\par
but I was only thinking\par
and not of art or \par
literature, but of me\par
and me in the context of \par
their lives, their worlds;\par
\par
and only how to alter \par
that position as such\par
a variable in algebra.\par
\par
Would the Earth\par
stop revolving\par
if I were to stop\par
breathing?\par
\par
I think so.\par
In fact, I know.\par
\par
So I have a drink\par
smelling my fingers\par
and smoking pot,\par
sneezing, and not\par
exercising anything.\par
Not even thought\par
or free will.\par
\par
I've even lost my \par
faith in God or the \par
lack thereof. So in \par
the 'existential vaccuum'\par
I ponder overpopulation\par
and decide competition\par
means I'll give up and \par
that I should. \par
\par
Girls\par
are too hard to \par
break.\par
\par
Revel in defeat,\par
and somehow manage\par
to still feel \par
self-pity and dwell\par
on abstract depression.\par
}
