echo echo.

Words. As I sit here trying grasping reaching in the air for something worth
saying. But then again each syllable taste so sweet on my parched hot lips. Im sick
sick of these useless conversations strewn across my computer screen. Im dying from
these papers and drowning in books that others tell me I must read. But im
starving for the controversial words that I know have been spoken. I fell in
love with wilde as a child and have not gone back since. Im thirsty thirsty for
something real and words that awaken my soul and keep my mind whirling and my
hands typing all night. i write on receipts on bus rides to work and school. I go
days with out eating spending my money on cigarettes and sketchbooks starving
and hallucinating I find myself up at three aim contemplating didos death along
with my own. Do my words make any sense
anymore? Does my life? im completely satisfied to speak my mind be poor but
rich in the soul but my starving screeching stomach says otherwise. Trapped in
limbo, im holding my breath. Stuttering I forget how to speak. my words dance on my tongue, hang from my tonsils, slam against the cages of my teeth. I pronounce things wrong yet they sound right in
my head is it from lack of conversation with people who care for more
than what that Disney kid said while fucked up on crack? Im done these social
interactions leave me weary yet im addicted to distractions. So I sit here at
5am papers still waiting, a new boy to text and cigarette in hand while watching
some movie that some f*****g hipster recommended and makes no sense. Constantly
busy constantly moving I cant sit and think alone.Fingers typing smoke blowing
lets try again. Lets try again new ideas new life new story. lets try again New
boy new heartbreak new poetry. Lets try again new addiction new rehab new
story. Lets try again new style new clothes new acquaintances approach me. Distractions. Silence is too loud and im
breaking out but only in my eyes. I am afraid of Virginia woolf but what the
f**k shes my hero. I have nightmares of frida khalo screaming at me with birds
on her head and chimps on her shoulder telling me I must succeed. Im drowning
in over ambitious dreams and a lazy personality that keeps me missing classes
and cycling between insomnia and depression but those pills dull my mind make
me sick and skinny so I refuse once again to swallow your chemical chains I prefer
it this way. Ill stay up till six seven am go with out sleep for days and days
if it allows me to say what I got to say. Ill expose my naked bones for you on sheets of
white paper, receipts, sketchbooks, note pads and computer screens. Ill shout
out in the dead of the night this is whats on my mind read it or don’t listen
or don’t I couldn’t give a f**k cause in a hundred years or so I will have left
a mark of endless notes and words and poetry and at least one of them should be
a little more than alright.

Reviews

[Bard Constantine]

The silent scream of frustration and questioning mind of madness... I know this well. I can say nothing except: you are not alone...