Frantic state of mind

Rambling… rambling… rambling… incessant rambling. The thoughts race through my head, recurring again and again, yelling why? Why? How could you? My world is crashing down out of an instant, falling apart in every which direction, leaving me suspended, buoyed, bouncing around in the void. The world outside, it’s untouchable. They see me. But they don’t really see me. They see something of me, a part of me, a part that I cannot see. I know it’s there, I know it exists, but I just can’t see it. It’s their perspective, their eyes, their minds. Their method of transcription, of translation. I don’t think I can affect it. No. I don’t know how to affect it. I am just here, in this void. Suspended. Buoyed. Bouncing. My world reintegrates. I am solid once again. No. My world seems solid once again. Yes. I feel angry winds. What have I done? I know not what I do. Please. Forgive me. Forgive my ignorance. My inabilities. I know not. I know. But I not. I cannot. I am afraid. I do not wish to return, but I do. Always but. Always continue. Always feel and be confused. Always not understand. Always shudder at myself. Always think too much. Think thoughtless thoughts. Repeat. Repeat and repeat. Stop it. I can’t. They won’t stop. Thoughts, they are incessant. They don’t give me time to transcribe. They’re too fast. Here one moment. Gone the next. A wisp. Ephemeral. I want them. I want them. Please slow down, please calm down. Everything may not be all right, but who cares. Should I care? Am I right to care? Who am I? Does it matter? Who am I supposed to be? Should it matter? Where do I go? Why can I not go? Let me go. Let myself go. I cannot. I am trapped. I have trapped myself. Where am I? What am I? What do I do?

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For the Intermittent Writer


Short books about albums. Published by Bloomsbury.

The Wink

This Week in Kink

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