Nihilism and Caffeine

You plunge your fist into the creeping milieu of the ice cube by your ‘20s daydream. Does it not hurt? but it does, and you quickly retreat, surrendering to primal, human instinct. Your skin is not bland, but sticky with fear and blank expressions and wistful thinking, you disgust dogs. Does the rainy tapestry’s ambient face not disturb you? but it does, and you scratch it until your fingers leak. In the restaurant with the piano man, he seems nice; he seems nice; he seems tastier than your empty plate. Does the melody not enrage you? but it does, and you plead to your god for one more chance. On the treadmill, adding the highest speed, you believe you’re a masochist, but not after a minute; you’re hilariously wretched. Does your love of ghosts not riddle your spleen with blahs? but it did; you lay in your hollow sheets, your grandmother called. Sordid, vizier’s fool; starry faces tickle the curves of your ears; ha ha ha ha they can’t scathe you if you get off on laughing at yourself.