April 4, 2006

The Feelings You and I Get

I get the feeling that I'm already dead, and my soul is waiting for the body to join it in the afterlife. I get the feeling we are being watched by aliens sometimes. I get the feeling there is too much time in the day. I get the feeling I am boring myself with facts and figures and routine. I get the feeling that when you think of me you only think of slitting my throat from behind, while I sleep. I get the feeling you aren't as funny as people think you are. I get the feeling there's someone under my bed with a gun waiting to kill me. I get the feeling god died a long time ago, before any of us were even born. I get the feeling I can calculate pi to its last digit, but I just don't wanna. I get the feeling I need to beat someone up in a bar for looking at me funny. I get the feeling I love being alone. I get the feeling I am going to die in the shower with no one watching. I get the feeling my dead grandma is watching me while I fuck. I get the feeling that when we're all gone no one will speak highly of us, and probably blame our generation for pretty much everything that goes wrong from here on out. I think I should find something to love, fast, before it's too late, before the things I can love find something else to love without me.

You get the feeling you're a stupid bitch, and when you walk, you look over your shoulder, wondering if people are watching the way your hips move--the way your shoulders move; and when you speak you wonder if the words are coming out clear enough, if they're boring or not, if people care what you're talking about or if they're even listening at all; and when you sing you can't tell if it's on key and when people watch you you think they're just thinking about how ugly you are; and when you look in the mirror you see so much fat that you want to spit back at yourself; and when you look in the mirror at your face you wonder how you got so old so fast and if other people can tell how old you got so fast; and when you are alone you wonder about stars and gravity and light and relativity, and you think you'd be better off in the mountains with your books and your cat; and when you tease me it feels so good to know someone actually cares--it feels good to make me wonder about you while I sleep at night; and when you play guitar it hurts your fingers and your wrist but it's so beautiful it cuts through the walls; and when you fuck you wonder if he thinks you're as beautiful as you think he is; and when you laugh you think of sledding down a childhood hilltop at eight, falling in the snow with your best friend, pushing each other over until you can't breathe, catching flakes with your tongue and watching your breath in the cold air, snowpants falling down, your fingertips freezing and numb; but you only laugh when you're drunk or when I'm not around to see. I want to be around to see.

Posted by albu0009 at 5:16 AM