Distractions

Writing

The haunting vibrato of the suicidal voices that lurk in the darker depths of my dull personality, I’ve been gifted with a sharper mind than most. I’ve been toying with distractions in a great hope that I can regain some of my former thoughts and genial being. It’s been so difficult to speak, my voice isn’t hoarse or overused.. I simply have lost the desire to communicate. My thoughts have been blocked by giant barricades of my fear to write the things that taunt my mind every night. I’ve been trapped in a room where I’ve been sitting silently in a pool two inches thick with my distraught moments. I wonder what it feels like to have everyone embrace my shadow and revel in the darkness that they all deny. Constant feeling as if I’m surrounded by dragons and vicious fantasies and I alone must fight them off.

This disheartening sensation: of knowing that the things that I do want shall be my undoing and the things that I least want may save my life as my life begins to cascade over broken train tracks. It all adds more chaos to the constant train wreck of thoughts that I try to ram through with consistent stupidity.

I’ve become morose. I’m bitter, jagged and I’ve given up on wishful thinking. I’ve been floating aimlessly in a cloud of discontent. I’m no longer lost or looking for answers. I’m trying to figure out how to live. What do you do when the falsified happiness and distractions run out? You’re supposed to live then. I’m supposed to live, I’m supposed to find the answers to all questions and fulfill my dreams. I’m supposed to calm the broken child that I hideaway.

I’m distracted and at a loss of communication.

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