The Words

What a darling delight of a challenge this is.

You've given writers permission to just... fucking say whatever they want? Brilliant.

So why is my head suddenly empty?

Hah. What a funny joke I've made, though it only makes any sense to me... The joke being that my head could be empty, duh.

I'm always thinking. There's a non-stop monologue running in my mind.

Sometimes I wish I could just shut the hell up.

But I can't.

So I mentally drone.

I get so caught up in it sometimes... it distracts me from driving, eating, cooking, cleaning... fucking.

My words are an ever present pulse, beating like their very own morbid heart.

Telling me to look at the sunset, instead of the steering wheel.

Telling me to think about ink on pages instead of fingers playing on the softest bits of skin.

Telling me to go sit at the computer, tap away, let the dinner burn.

Let the world burn.

If only so the words can get out.

So here I sit. I tap, tap, tap at the keys.

Children snore in the next room over.

Dogs lie curled at my feet.

Dirty dishes in the sink.

Laundry in a mound, hidden behind the wash room door.

Dust all over the floor.

But I couldn't give a single shit.. so long as the words are flowing.

The feeling I get when I put words on page... It is a homecoming.

It is a heart pounding.

It is lips tingling with the pleasure of words unspoken, but nonetheless expressed.

And in those moments, I have no other care in the world. I am free. I am myself. I hide here, behind the guise of anonymity, and yet here... I am my one true self. I can show you who I am, because I am not terrified you'll hate me.

I don't care if you hate me.

I just care about getting the words out.

I just have to set them free.

So my heart pounds on, chest heaving under the weight of worlds untold.

I can't sleep.

So I'll dream while I'm awake.