there is some new fascination scraping around in my head. some small twinge in my stomach keeps making itself known. some strange and creeping sensation takes over my eyes and they keep wandering until they find their rest on it. my neck will not stay still, i turn and see, and lips part to teeth as billy joel croons quietly in the back ground, and so it goes. as what's left of day comes filtering through the curtains and onto the dusty carpeting. as the voices of friends flick in and out of my straining ears. and i tell each part of me to stop, to stop and that it's not what it is. but it is what it is, and you are what you are, and i am what i do not think i should be.