I locked myself in a conference room at work for an hour and kept a log of my thoughts.

how can i write here?
the walls are white
the table is dark wood - scratched
i may as well make every line the same length
my eyes are blurry from the lights
i am cold from the air conditioning - which would be funny
if you knew where i was, but you don't
the buttons on the telephone are yellow
they used to white
that's never occured to me before
it makes my stomach turn
i'd rather be watching gay porn
my hair is full of fly-aways today
the young veins are playing
i think i'm going cross-eyed
i ate too much before i began writing this
i'm broke - my spine and my bank account
29 minutes
i've got plans to cancel
i use the same excuse every time but it's always true
it's never that i'm getting laid
fingerprints you can't see
i really wonder what is on those telephone buttons
i don't have allergies so i am not sympathetic
stop sneezing so loudly
leave me alone
the carpet is one of those carpets that is designed to hide stains
i bet someone has had sex on this table before
it wasn't me
not this table
i just need someone to tell me the truth
or a lie
i don't mind which
just tell me something
i've lost weight so tell me that
or my tits look nice today
i avoid all of the rooms here
where we fucked
there's a few
there's too many
there's a few too many and i'm so glad
that you never knocked me up
you'd be an awful father
i always know when you're here
i can feel it like when an evil spirit is in the room
i've managed to avoid you for months
how did this turn into a poem about you?
let's talk some more about those yellow buttons
i really hate you