In life. In love. In essence.
I think I’m a danger to myself. Yelling mean things at my core, shaming who I am, tormented by my own relentless voice.
Moments of pure joy.
Singing…singing all things.
I rip myself into a storm. I break my own heart, force myself into tears. Depression.
I romanticize my life. I think of my sweet love and our future. I think of past exchanges, timeless moments, happy memories.
I feel too much for others till it wears me thin…scraping my bones clean of any strength.
I think about bird.
I think about Boo.
I wander in and out of thoughts…like a squiggly line cutting through the straight edges of life.
I break out in song again and wiggle my hips.
Sometimes I don’t even think that I’m thinking at all.
I think about stress, then begin to stress due to the overwhelming life that is ahead of me and all the things I have to do and want to do, and should do, and what tom, dick, and harry think I should do.
I’m thinking about how you’re reading this and judging my lack of grammar and punctuation. That does not make me pleased but at the same time I don’t care.
You’re gonna miss me when I’m gone…yes that song is playing…well now it’s not anymore but you get the point…
Ramble on my friends.