sehnsucht
I found a beautiful word: Sehnsucht. And instead of twenty-five things, is three hundred and eight words.
--
I want the world to fall silent so that I might have my chance to create something worth hearing in the dust of what was once made by those before me. I want you all to be quiet. I am done with you. Shut the fuck up.
I am done with this.
Somewhere inside of me, there is probably a chemical reaction as intricate as the night sky pinned up on your ceiling and hanging over our heads like the sword of Damocles. There is a chemical reaction that is threatening to trigger something not unlike stars and suns and something I can’t quite pin down this afternoon, with the hollow, empty sky decidedly simple.
I am done with this.
There is something building up like a toxin. I am shaken and bruised and agitated. My hands hurt from attempting to mean something by tearing down walls. But no matter how I try I cannot halt the progression of this syndrome. There is no reason behind the accumulation of poison inside the catacombs and arteries that only halts when I am absolutely, completely convinced that I am alone and that I am doing something that will someday matter.
But there is the part of me that wonders why matter.
There is a part of me that would rather cut class, carve flesh, create something completely dissonant. There is a part of me that likes to burn things. There is a part of me, right now, that wants to scream and never stop.
So fuck this shit, I don’t know why I try to put it into words anymore or why I try to translate it into a language you will understand. I have lost my fluency, my words fall flat.
Edit, go back. Replace that word. I will never be able to write something that will be irreplaceable.
--
I want the world to fall silent so that I might have my chance to create something worth hearing in the dust of what was once made by those before me. I want you all to be quiet. I am done with you. Shut the fuck up.
I am done with this.
Somewhere inside of me, there is probably a chemical reaction as intricate as the night sky pinned up on your ceiling and hanging over our heads like the sword of Damocles. There is a chemical reaction that is threatening to trigger something not unlike stars and suns and something I can’t quite pin down this afternoon, with the hollow, empty sky decidedly simple.
I am done with this.
There is something building up like a toxin. I am shaken and bruised and agitated. My hands hurt from attempting to mean something by tearing down walls. But no matter how I try I cannot halt the progression of this syndrome. There is no reason behind the accumulation of poison inside the catacombs and arteries that only halts when I am absolutely, completely convinced that I am alone and that I am doing something that will someday matter.
But there is the part of me that wonders why matter.
There is a part of me that would rather cut class, carve flesh, create something completely dissonant. There is a part of me that likes to burn things. There is a part of me, right now, that wants to scream and never stop.
So fuck this shit, I don’t know why I try to put it into words anymore or why I try to translate it into a language you will understand. I have lost my fluency, my words fall flat.
Edit, go back. Replace that word. I will never be able to write something that will be irreplaceable.