The Writer of My Future

Wed, 09/06/2017 - 19:49 -- VWjam

My words are locked inside of me.

It is rude to talk to oneself in public, so I refrain from doing it.


My tongue is twisting itself, trying to part my lips.

All the curse words I want to yell, I tense my jaws so they won't escape.

Gods, I am so sorry I hold you in, but I must.

I'm afraid for my image.

I have a lot of things to say, believe me, please.

I'm trying so hard to hold onto all these images I want you to see

When you think of me that I'm losing--

My personality seems fickle because I emit all kinds of vibes

That attract all kinds of creatures.

Sometimes I involuntarily emit the wrong one to one of the creatures it has ensnared,

And that creature wonders where the hell is that particular light I always showed.

Jesus Christ, I've invoked your name

Even though I am not one of yours

To lament about my distresses.

I am having a pity party in a dark room, where I am wearing

A jacket, but my back is cold, where I am wearing

Shorts but my bared legs are warm, who the fuck will want to attend at this rate?

That's right, me, what the hell is there to celebrate?

Why am I selfish?

How the fuck am I selfish?

I don't want to take on responsibilities unless they pertain to me.

I don't want to unburden the load on people unless I gain from those.

I make up excuses, but inside I feel like punching myself.

Sometimes I believe someone is writing my life from behind my back,

I, never to see my writer,

My writer always to write my future.

Is this an excuse or a phenomenon?

I always think about what I should be thinking.

I reprimand myself over selfish thoughts, approve when it is compassionate and kind.

God fuck, I don't want to categorize and single out my thoughts like this!

I'm tired...

Tired of what?

Why am I in such a loop?

Why is it so hard to talk?


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