(no subject)
"Codes, but not cryptic enough. I'll rework and rework until there is nothing left but meaningless, flowery eloquence. Maybe that is all I need. Eloquence to fill me up while ketosis eats me away from the inside out, making me hollow and brittle and cold, cold, cold."
- Not Me
So here we are. Words on screens like brushes past paper.
Thoughts allowed to run rampant by a mind too fearful to accost them
Too fearful? Am I?
Am I anything? is the whole world watching? is no-one?
Railroaded, or free to make my own mistakes?
They make their way in like the cool experienced hand of someone who knows better. Who should know better.
I work hard to appear as though I don't work at anything
my words are disjointed and fractured like my thoughts
my body is young but my soul feels old and tired
I work hard to appear.
I fumble through my foibles, push-on-through-paranoia
On the knife edge of psychosis, I am
A ball of pent up energy
Ready to explode upon the carpeted sky with the colours of a thousand dull rainbows.