I can't finish anything or focus on anything long enough. I do try though. Making all the pre-assignments left me empty and I couldn't even get them done properly for fucks sake.
"I have learnt that the line between speaking your mind and remaining silent can be seemingly thin yet still so far in the distance that the other side turns hazy blue. And what is truth, when humankind doubts it's own existence and is in disagreement on things that are established to be facts ?
I have wrapped myself in silence again. I communicate in half-smiles and other gestures my body fills in the blanks when I am not controlling the vessel. I do too many things on auto-pilot, my heart getting lost somewhere, only one quater feebly screaming it's will to live. Everything exhaust me, lungs full of black and swallowed sentiments when no words are found to explain them. Laughter rattles glass shards under too tight skin, ripping my chest at the seams and my thighs are a study in purple painted by ghosts, a work too distasteful for display. All that makes up the seen world is becoming increasingly dull, as if seen through a foggy glass. The world is shapes and the living are courting with the shadows.
I think there used to be beautiful things here, in the garden of this mind. The kind of beauty that is hope and bright, if a bit shy but like a pearl waiting to be taken to curious hands of the one that has released it from it's shell. The colours were different then, more vibrant and light, contrast still soft in the late-afternoon sun.
Writing helps a little. It makes me remember. It's my map, even if at best vague to the outsider, of the things that are. People often think it's the autobiographical aspect of my writing but alas, no. A fact is a rare thing in my forest of screams, it's all echoes and whatif's, but for me it works like short-hand. I remember by the sentence, I recognize and recall the story behind the chosen words. It is not something others can piece together as a whole picture, fragments yes and most of those shards are misinterpretation prone."
Things I'm more or less sure are True:
I am alone in my head.