bullshit cont.

what is there but desperation?desperate for the first glass of water once awoken; desperate to releive yourself after swimming in the darkness for six, nine, eleven (i sleep too much or not enough) hours; desperate to get the taste of my mouth out of my mouth (i prefer yours); desperate to quiet the hunger, to satisfy the machine i am inhabiting (for now). desperate to see something new, break the monotony, to notice the color of a fire hydrant; the sound of an oncoming train (what would happen if i stepped in front?); the way the rain falls sideways sometimes. desperate to release the tension & grind (in defiance) my weakness into black spots that dance in my eyes; desperate to be satisfied, fulfilled (appointed, in some way). what is there but the desperate gasp of breath that throws itself beyond my reach, into the lightwaves and bouncing atoms (into your ears, into your mouth). this is a figment, a fragment, a farce- desperate to undress, uncover. but tell me then… you claim to simply exist take up space, to be experiencing one of millions of possible realities… what are you desperate for?