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What is wrong with me?

Spiderweb deposits on my coffee mug.
it's not even coffee
I should be doing something else.
you have been doing epic else, writing, freedom
Warm milk puts you to sleep, but caffeine infusion confuses the body enough.
i'm certain of that, by now
Writing before, and writing now, and to write again,
Words redeeming dead philosophers, realizing
Potentials set out to be what they are.
and a writer you can't stand, ignoring them all
I'll defend her, anyway.
why am i here? is it the schizophrenia set loose, but wait
Schizophrenia is different - a popular term for something else common in these university writers, banging pens and pencils against veins to get working stationery.
another personality, awoken in times of need and crisis
I'm hoping Celts can make my fingers dance, but they're stuck on this page,
On this page, writing about to be written.
dead philosophers, dead philosophers
Writing in beat to whatever plays, nothing necessarily making sense as I sit here and my fingers dance.
accept and cease to avoid, devoid, the void, the voice in ink
Conscience beating with harp and drum against me, get it out of your head, put it in my head, communicate and theorize.
defend someone you cannot stand
I am no such altruist.
but you are such a student, and whore to the system, to the system
I write against the system, I write for the system.
stop thinking about it
The noose found in the university center was misinterpreted, poorly answered, stupidly made, foolishly discovered, unfortunately responded.
i'm sure you were the only one laughing
Other people were laughing.
at you and silly games, but come back to me, don't let me flounder
foundry crumbling and i want to stay alive
My mind wandering to call me back to the foreigner it found, away from.
don't forget what you're set out to do - don't forget me and why am i here
I have to stop writing.
i have to start writing
I have to stop writing.
to start writing
To stop writing.
to stop
Start.
go



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I remember doing this once before and saying I wouldn't do it again because the result was so messed-up awful, but honestly, the writer I have to defend in this paper I have to write is an idiot and I really, really don't want to do it. I'd rather just sit up there in that poem and continue stream of consciousness, but like the uncapitalized speaker says, I'm a whore to the system. They pay me, I play them. BLARGH ANGST ANGST ANGST (i thought that was what high school was for) ANGST BLARGH
Gotta go.