PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Here I am listening to what is referred to as hip music, in a flat on the Asian side of the sea.  My computer is covered in cat hair and I feel indifferent.

90 days ago, if you asked me what I would be doing, I can assure you it would not be this. This place is testing me in the sliest of ways and I can’t seem to past. At least that’s how it appears. Maybe, sitting miserable living day to day with my feelings racing on the 500 is exactly what I need. My perspective is blurred, but I figure that’s normal for an American in a 2^nd world country. I haven’t met too many of us. But when I do run into to them, they act like a high schooler at a party. All the excitement and willingness to try anything. If I could only be like them…

So I drank. I sat and I drank, I talked and laughed and I drank. I ate and I drank. I smoked and I drank. I’m not dealing with surface level shit here. I’m 40,000 leagues under the sea and I don’t which way is up or down. Sex was promised before things exploded, but something tells me it was a false facade. No disrespect to my love, but when things are promised, it general never happens.

I’m a low life piece of shit and all I can think about in a time like this is sex and writing. Well, at least I’m writing. My selfishness has come to a low. I’m talking worse than an able man, begging on the street corner low. She looks distrait and all I can do is type away, with the music off. I see her sitting there, with those intriguing eyes and I’m scared to look onward. Deeper. I watch her. Her sexy tormented soul, like a rock between a hard place. And the numbers don’t add up. How can someone so beautiful equate so much sadness. If there ever was a greater contradiction from Clinton and the sex scandal it was her. Yet as I study her, fingers are racketeering from letter to letter. Curse you Steve. I wonder where do I fit in. My selfish egocentric needs need a place to stay. And I don’t feel like dealing with the drama of friend who is close to dying, standing on the edge of about to leap or at the very least thinking hard about it. I feel nothing. I am trapped in this superficial way of life. Deprived of sex and attention in a country that is not my own. I’m mad, and not surprised that yet again the justice of karma has struck my way. Karma or just bad timing is running the very ounces I’m trying to save. If karma where a bitch, Id fuck her and tell her to get out when I came. And I would come right on her face just to urge this point.