Next Stop: Lunacy

I’m not making any sense. I’m not. I’m not. I’m really, really not. What do I care anyway? I don’t need to sound intelligent. I don’t need to seem sophisticated. Fuck intelligence and sophistication can shove itself where the sun don’t shine. Look how far they have gotten me anyway. Nowhere I want to be, that’s for sure. Stop rereading what I’ve written so far. It’s of no importance what I write as long as I just do. Just write. If I stop, I might never write again. Stop scratching your head. Keep writing. Go on. What do you want to say? Get it out. Get it all out. Say it. Shout it. Scream it. Don’t edit. Don’t pay attention to your grammar or wonder if the ideas flow. Just fuck it and write. Write, goddamnit! Write as if your life depended on it. Write as is there’s no tomorrow. Write as if… I’m out of cliches. Shit. How did that happen? Oh, God… Don’t I know anything anymore? I used to know a lot, at least I think I did. Did I ever? Who burst my bubble? Why can’t I live in ignorance? Why is it so wrong? I want to blow up another bubble that no one can pop. Get that pin away from me. Let me be. Let me be. Let me be alone forever. At least then I wouldn’t have to dread separation. Not having anyone offers a certain comfort. The comfort of knowing that you’ll never be abandoned because it already happened. Yea, yea, yea. Unhappiness can be depended on in such a way happiness never could. So sad, really. It’s tragic. It’s unnecessary. It’s inevitable. It’s life. It sucks!

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