Cup of coffee

A cup of coffee won't solve, for my problem isn't the tired eye or the head that pulses like the drums of the songs passing by. No. A mess like this isn't solved with a simple, ordinary coffee. Coffee is an excuse for extra determination, an illusional pause. Just like a cigarette or a walk or a chocolate cookie. A placebo effect. The wind outside comes into my mind and becomes far more important than the thoughts I was having before. It got control, it took over the situation, it made me get lost. More lost. Again. And again, and again. No GPS would help, because I know which routes I can use, I know exactly where I am. It doesn't drive for me, it won't do the unstuck. And minutes tickle, cry where they used to sing. It's a great cliché to say that the same thing can be devastatingly beautiful or horrid ugliness depending on its intensity. And still, that's why I can hate me. I can hate us. I can hate you. A caress, a word, is like an input: it needs processing. It needs loading. It will begin a war, a war which devastation isn't seen but felt. No wrecked building. No crying people. I don't cry. I barely complain. That's why I hate me. That's why I hate people. I hate me because people hate me and they hate me because I don't look alike. I don't fit. I don't match. I have to hear and I won't react. It's easier to make sense with small sentences. The words won't lose grip, the fingers jump from key to key as if they already had this speech in mind. Obviously, it isn't a speech. I can't speak. That's what people say, that's what people think. I'm the guilty, I am the crippled. I'm am the one who has to listen but won't ever feel like anyone listens to him. Well, being a bit unfair now. It seems I have my concentration back. Solved it isn't, but it wasn't meant to be. Flaws are everywhere and if I was the only one the world would be perfect. And it is. There comes the wind again...hope it doesn't vanish. This stream, cascade, huge word-puking, of words that are barely analized.