I don't know what else to do

I want someone to throw up in my hair
I think that would make me feel better for some reason
I keep typing long bullshit and closing w/o saving
The world is probably going to squash soon anyway
It takes years to form a thought
but only like a couple seconds to say the words
I can't stop thinking why am i writing why am i writing what do i have to say
The only time I ever wrote anything I meant
was when I didn't think about it
It probably wasn't even me making the words
I think I just like the feel of pressing lots of buttons
I could become a world class videogamer
if I had the coordination
The best I ever felt might have been
the time I found the skateboard in the tall grass
of the very heavy man that lived next door to my parents with his old mother
I remember my father bitching about how the man was so fat
he wouldn't even go get the mail
and made his old mother who could hardly even toddle get it
It sometimes took her 15 minutes to get from one end of the driveway to the other
Some days she would keep walking past the mailbox a little ways
She'd go down to the end of the block even though it took forever
Then she started going further
Years later she wore neon pink running suits
You could see her on the streets around the city
She always kept her head down
The fat man started getting thinner too somehow
He'd go stand in the backyard and look at nothing
I could see him through the fence
Our dog would bark at his dog, he wouldn't blink
After I moved out I didn't see these people for years
Until last week I came by and saw the mother going for the mail again
She had a walker now and had slowed down more than ever
It took her almost three hours to get to the street and back
I could see straight through her skin
I could see veins and ache and color, words
There wasn't any mail