Pity

I see you there, piles of mess. I see you and oh lord do you see me. I birthed you. I brought your filthy coagulated head into this chaotic world. The turmoil that defines your very being threatens to destroy the sanctity and peace of mine. Though I cannot really hate you; no father can ever really hate his child. All I can do is stare at you disgustedly and hate myself a little more each time for creating you. You are me, my extension, in misplaced paraphernalia. My mind unwarped, uncompressed, unfurled, and undulating across all surfaces.

Oh, desk.