When what else is there to do but lose your mind

Peeling paint

Where are you buddy?
Oh you know, just walking down the street, daytime, though actually an early night time, or a late night time, or an early morning--
Alright, idiot. I get it. You're lost. You don't even know what street you're on, I bet. You know only what cities you aren't in.
Not sure if I'd go that far, All I'm sure of is that I'm in a city.

I'm sitting down, headphones on, I can see someone's fingers clacketying on a laptop, a spider tied down to the keyboard, so delicious to see, to taste these sounds
You can't hear it
Oh I hear it. I take it in the eye
You're the end of an odd fetish
Just the beginning, just a little tinge, a squirt of it.
You weird little fuck
Fuck off, You project upon me sexualizations. Your ugly eyes. I'm enjoying myself just sitting and thinking of the little tactile pleasures of life, thumbs in concave doorbells, fingers scrambling on the clean keyboards, typewriters are even better, dust jackets on books, peeling plaster, cases encased in cases, russian dolls, hammering single swing straight down to the head, pushing nails into styrofoam, a tight fit in the hips--
I told you! its not just projections of sexual fetishes!
Fits, perfect fits, it's delicious of its own merits

Who the fuck are you anyway

I'm the great you, while you, are merely a pocket of me
holy fuck!
that's right boy, now get out of here.