just looking for my brain. NBD.

As soon as I slip into that frenzy, wanting needing to go into that writing rage,

                                                     My mind goes

 b 

   l 

   a 

 n 

k. 

And I'm faced with my biggest enemy, the Blank Page.

 "You'll never write anything worthwhile," she taunts me with a cold-blooded smile.                                                                      And 

 So

 I 

 Sit. 

 Dumbfounded by my stupidity, I wonder if I'm losing my brain. Every word I think feels like my mind is slipping through my desperate hands, and down the drain.
 Well, Blank Page, you've clearly won. I'm now a little mad at myself for rhyming a ton. [fuck you, that's why.]

I copied this post from my notebook because ... yeah.

come on. post something.

I've been wrestling with the idea of a new post, but I couldn't think of anything worthy to write.  Should I write about how the media is enforcing heinous gender stereotypes?  How about proper internet etiquette, because it seems like that's been slipping? (Oh yeah.  People are dicks.  It's always been like that.)  Maybe someone will pay attention if I post about my uneducated view on an important social issue.  I've got it!  Maybe I'll

       uh

well, fuck. 

 I have no clue.  But I want to post something. So what'll it be there, slick?  Open up that brain of yours and spew some shit out.

So I look to the amazing internet for guidance.  

Think for me, internet.  Because I apparently can't.  

I wasn't too impressed with the help I got.  The writing prompts I came across were reminiscent of MySpace surveys.  No, thank you.

and then I thought about it.

spew some shit out.

It doesn't need to make sense.  Because fuck you, that's why.  And that is what mind vomit is.

surreal.

This all seems like a very weird dream.  I question reality as I type this.  Did any of this really happen?

It's like I've taken a double-shot of Ipecac and now I've gotten that horrid taste from my mouth.  I keep trying to purge it.  But now I'm overpowered by the taste and stench of my own bile.  I never want that awful taste near my face again.

now I feel like I'm only half awake, and I'm desperately missing my coffee.

I foolishly spilled my coffee while trying to grasp it.  I was sleepwalking.  My darling coffee scalded my hands, leaving my skin red and peeling.  While I try to savor the flavor of the last couple of sips I have, I lie here on the floor, praying for a refill. 

coffee vs. awful beer

I am awake.

I clutch on to my coffee for the warmth, security, and comfort.  I don't hold my grip too strongly, in fear of spilling the scalding beverage all over my hands, and destroying the precious drink.  The coffee is inviting and soothing, and I welcome its intense embrace as it passes my lips, and invigorates my entire being.  I can always depend on coffee to pick me up and get me going.  It has that astounding ability to melt away my fatigue in an instant, just like magic.  Coffee has that perfect balance between sweet and bitter.  When I wake up to coffee, my day is bright, and I smile because I got my fix.  It seems to know me perfectly, and goes so well with me. 

I am addicted, and I don't want to stop.

Sometimes I get drowsy, though.  It's like someone switched my darling coffee out for a vile mug of Old Milwaukee, flavored with Tylenol PM, Unisom, Ambien, and shame.  I accidentally take a swig, and no matter how hard I try to spit it out, the repugnant taste holds my mouth hostage, and I feel weary and weak.  I violently try to purge out the poison, but all I end up doing is getting myself upset, sick and missing my coffee.

I swear, I had a point to this.  I'll remember it some time.  

dreams/sacrifices

Do you remember a time of hope?  Where your dreams don't just swim around in your head- you had a chance at making them your reality.  When the world was your stage to shine, instead of being your conspirator.  Do you recall a time of being able to seize the moment- seize your life, captivate the world with your glory?  Was there ever a time you knew you could make it happen?

what happens

    when that dream

                                   expires?

You think that if you work hard enough, that you will be able to see the fruit of your labor.  Part of you still clings on to that glimmer of hope. Maybe if you work harder.  SMILE WIDER.  Laugh longer.  At what point do you break down and realize that no matter what you do, it's simply not in your control.  You realize that you just aren't good enough.  Do you clutch on to that daydream of self-improvement and exhaust yourself, trying to outdo yourself?  Or do you surrender and let the candle burn down to the wick?  What the fuck do you do?  Is this in your control, or do you really suck that much?

Maybe if you would just fucking apply yourself.  LOVE STRONGER, WORK MORE,  Clean meticulously,  Keep everyone happy, then just maybe you'll be okay.  Do you keep reaching for something that's out of your grasp?  Should you even muster the effort in doing so? 

How fucking important are YOU, in comparison to everyone else?  Are you the lead role, a supporting member, or an extra?  Do other people's happiness equate to yours? 

Make more sacrifices.  Give yourself up.

You're not that goddamned special.