Woke up again with a goddamn headache. My left eye is still sour and watering through the noon. Is this another infection? Am I going blind? What if I go blind? What is left to see, after all? I tile my head to right and think. I close my eyes and squeeze them under the lids. Let them run dry. Let them turn to stone. You are asleep or you are dying on your table or you are touching yourself and thinking about me or you are working and thinking about me or you are just thinking about me. I pull my hairs as I think. I squeeze my balls as I think. I think as I slowly go blind in one eye.
Woke up again. Thought about you. Thought about my cock between your legs, about your nipple in my mouth, about your clitoris rubbing my thighs. My left eye is vomiting again. I wash it with acid water. I wash it thrice but nothing. I walk back to my chair, pop a vitamin pill. I thank god because Mother’s Day is over. Another stupid day if you ask me. Why is everybody so insane and so fake all the time every year. Ironically, they are the same people who talk about liberty and equality and all that stupid shit. We all deserve a decent death, and until that comes, a fine living. But those fuckers will ruin it for every single one of us. I close my left eyes and squeeze it under the lid. It’s a joyful irritation. Yes, I am mad but there’s no other way. Yes, I am mad and my tongue is licking you everywhere. Yes, I am mad and there’s nothing an electric shock can do to me. Yes, I am mad and I am filling you with my cum for the rest of your life and my life. Yes, I am mad and I am mad and you are going away again. I lock away my eye in a drawer and walk to the toilet.
Evening birds are dying in the white careless air. They are quiet now. Everything is quiet now, everything except this head of mine. Everything is quiet except this stomach that wants some more. I take a walk, sit down on the grass. I do that and nothing else and my arms wait for your arms and my lips wait for your lips and my cock is asleep for some time now. The pleasant winds appear magically and enter my shorts and they crawl up my sweaty chest and jump out of my neck. How long before I get up and walk again. What am I waiting here? It’s nothing. I wonder if you are drunk. You are never drunk and I haven’t drank in a long time, except from your lips and your breasts. You are never drunk and I wait for you to open that bottle. You are never drunk and you will drink and you stomach will scream all night like mine.
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Tomic Riter 