I want to break things
And throw things,
and scream and rip and crush and bleed
I want to bleed
But most of all in this moment, I want to feel so numb
that reality isn’t an option
I want to go to the river and hold my breath until I have no more left to give
And float
whilst being encompassed by all the world collapsing around me.
In my head
So I write
Because my mind is too slow to show me my path
and my brain is too fast when it goes (fuck it goes!)
and then my mouth can’t find the words to say…
I write because idle hands are the devil’s workshop
and if so, then mine are certainly tools slaving away…
“Emancipate yourself from mental slavery, none but ourselves can free our minds”
Mind.
Mind…
Mine!
Mine?
yet i am a mental slave of this state I call existence
A cell block with assistance from these idle hands of mine
that need to write and draw somehow to occupy their time
and break their will to lift my soul like a cellmate counting down the days to ease his mind,
through the sticks and dashes he knows as time -
One, Two, Three, Four slash Five
as I start another line in this sentence
-my sentence.