Donuts, trees and Binoculars (pt 1 and 2)

(i)
The milk has gone sour now
And so have i
Paranoia on both ends.
Curtains are my shelter from two little espions
Burning, frying my head
Not my mobile
It's always off (now).
Why not use my tree
Like Jesus used his tree
To talk to people
Who won't listen
Why speak in tongues
And through cloths?
Muffling like a matted beard
Or perhaps really a beard
Vraiment.
What possesses
Er,
It?
Burp.
Just a dirty bastard
With little cretins for eyes.
Licking sugar off
Two-week old
Donuts.
You freak
You weirdo
You should be locked up
Just grow up.
I'm sure
If you were I
You would do the same.

(ii)
Twelve cheeses from Denmark might be there
But this little soundtrack
This frigidity of mouth
And knuckle-wrapping
On the wood the right way
(rather than pretend trees
under your cocoa)
It pretends not to care
But is truly
Vraiment
Intrigued
To the point of our voyeuristic
Spheres, no good
Little cretins.
Dirty little bastards, even.
I want to stop,
But i still have 5 donuts
In my satchel
(I'm not a little girl, fucker)
I'm a weirdo
And i should be locked up
Burp.
Grow up.
I'm sure
If you were I,
You would do the same.