Conversations with Oneself Before Stepping into the Bathtub

"it's cold in here"
i agree
"you really should of waited longer to get in, or out"
negative, the water was warm and ready, almost calling for me, so i jumped right on in, whatever the end result is, i'll deal with it.
"you're not understanding, what if it's not the right temp and you throw everything off, you're really going to piss into the wind for this?"
i will
"you're a stubborn bastard, but i like it, you dedicate yourself to things, that might just be your end."
i'll be
"damned you mean?"
of course
"don't forget how bad it might get along the way, you are going to want to give up several times, and it might not even be for the right cause."
that doesn't matter
".. what do you mean it doesn't matter?"
what i mean, (i put my hand on his shoulder at this point)
is that it might not be perfect, i might get worse, or i might get better, i can stand here all day arguing with you, but the water will only get colder. so lets settle on this, shall we? the temperature of the water doesn't matter right now, only the water itself, it surrounds me just like i want it to, it washes the dirty from me, and it makes me relaxed, if at some point, this furthers my sickness and i fall into a coma, then so be it, at which point, i would like my room to be painted mauve and to be covered in cherry blossoms, and i want a crown, a crown while i sleep.
too think to far into it
i'm just pissing into the wind.

cough, sigh, hack hack

the typewriter sits in her case,
lonely, under my desk, waiting,
i feel her kicking at night,
sometimes i can hear the clicks in my head,
and i can see it grow legs and walk up onto my chest,
and scream, "fucking do something!"
i'm scared
what if it's not good?
fuck it if it's not good,
i'll use the pages to wipe the snot from my nose
or the blood from my calluses
this keyboard is too hallow for me,
i need interaction.
give me interaction!
you don't understand do you?
you shouldn't
it's one of the those things you keep close to your heart
locked away in the cellar doors of your mind
to be awaken with the sun shooting through your blinds
as the morning cold runs up your toes and grabs your
balls and squeezes them tight so you have to place the pillow
right between your legs for some kind of warmth
she's starring at me now
the typewriter i mean
i'm faithful i swear,
i've just been busy with work,
don't hate me, you know i do my best writing on you,
just give me a minute to get in place,
in a good place and a good movement,
i don't want to waste you on some bullshit story about
the death of moths
.