too angry for poetry

So why am I here? Not here on earth so much as here at Royal Holloway.

In the computer centre all I can here is some drunk Fresher giggling hysterically and shrieking about how someone burnt her with a cigarette. Step over here darling, I'll see if I can make your day even better.

My timetable consists of 8 hours of classes. Two days. Giving me a five day weekend in which to obtain another job (to complement the one I already have) in order to pay my rent and buy my food purely for the pleasure of being here to do a course I don't care about to prepare me for a career I no longer want.

Now she's gnawing on her boyfriend's neck, pushing her whole mouth across his ear, he's moaning and I am feeling ever so slightly nauseous.

Nausea. That's back. I feel sick. Just like last year. Two lots of pills a day aren't helping that, although they have succeeded in destroying my... lust for life, shall we say?

So, why? Why and why and why. To drink? To smoke? To sit in my room and watch Frasier?

Everything feels meaningless, and I feel superfluous. My skin is crawling.

I don't know why I'm here, except that there is absolutely nowhere else I'd rather be.

Fuck. FUCK.