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Writting it all out.


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Maybe just writing is the best thing to do; Get it all out on paper. Nothing holding me back but the speed at which I write, the speed at which I think. I just need to think, think and write

to contemplate. What went wrong? Where did I turn right instead of left? I just lost it all, my mind, my motivation, my self respect. I need to get it all back, I feel

trapped

like I cant break free from this little box, I need an
empty

space to sit and think I feel like I cant freaking think,
am I insane? I feel like I am.

I feel like crying, like dying, like singing, like pulling my hair out, scratching my eyes out. Like loosing everything I have / everything I am to start over again.

Who am I?

Who would I be if I were anyone? Someone who could make beautiful art. This is my decision. I will / would be great at what I do. I want to sing, to act, to draw, to

Be Free.

This world is like a prison, my world is a prison, yet smaller, less important. And yet smaller and lesser important than both, is the prison of my house, my dad is the guard.

Why am I here? Who will I be? If I am nothing then was I ever even here? Because the only memories of me are gone too. Do we carry on through our memories? Maybe our afterlives are just us being recalled as something we were,
something we were not.




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