untitled

I'm sitting at my desk, not wanting to be here. A song plays somewhere at a desk nearby and rhythmic thuds of high heels on the wooden floors also creep into my ears.

I'm here but somehow I feel invisible. Or maybe that's what I hoping to be. There is some anger too. There is definitely some anger. But again it is one of those where even you know there is nothing to seethe over. Then I guess that is precisely why I'm angry, because there is nothing to actually rage over. It is strange but when I sit in silence all these thoughts and moods flood my senses but when I sit in front of the monitor to crib, nothing gives. That I guess adds to the anger.

I do not want to be here. There is a silent urge to self-destruct and loose consciousness. I have thoughts of collapsing into myself with tools in my hand and get to my core to fix the malfunctioning moods. I'm so tired that I'm tired of being tired. I'm bored beyond the point of wanting to do something about it.

Ugly images cross my heads every few minutes. As if I'm thrusting my crotch at someone's face. What does it mean? That I have become primitive enough to only feel primordial urges? Frankly, I'm too tired and bored to even care. There is also an urge to break someone's face. It's the Fight Club syndrome I guess. Maybe. I feel angry at anyone who seems happy or is smiling. Again, it's natural isn't it? This is the time where I'd probably not flinch if I had to skin a pig. But can I, even now, skin a pig while it's alive? I don't think so. You understand what I'm saying, do you?

Fuck you. I don't want you to understand. I didn't ask for it. I don't need it.

The end.