It’s 10.09pm as I write this – once again, brainlessly. I feel so discoloured, it angers me so. I’ve had a little anger spell earlier in the day and attempted to write, but, alas, I fail once again to compose something beautiful. Forced anger? Perhaps reactive anger? I cannot place it. I can focus on the emotion; it’s red. So deeply red. Scarlet red? No. Maybe crimson red? A dark red? I haven’t a clue. But I see it. It’s there. Glowing bright in my pupils that they dilate.
I’m so frustrated that I feel like this. I want to rid it away, but at the same time I long for its company to enthral and fester within me. To me, it is the gateway to limbo, for I will be able to write a masterpiece. I want to write something good and hearty, powerful like my old poems. I reminisce over such pieces and feel my present-self degrade under my own verbose lexis. I believe by doing this, it infuriates me further because I long to be that precise and sharp with words. Words written in such pieces came naturally; flowing without thought. They just came to mind and my fingertips. God, this is so irritating, it physically makes me tense and grind my teeth. Though, I shouldn’t keep it from you, audience, for you know it’s far more than just the literary block. There are more stresses on my shoulders, not just ill family members, a horrid dreadful, godforsaken disastrous break up, but more or so stresses with myself. I’m mad with myself. Day by day, this agitation grows and festers, so much that I want to rid the spores and just be nothing. Rid of my mind and heart.
Oh, I am so weary and irritated. I’m desperate to sink my literary teeth into something so hearty, and feast upon it for hours on end like I used to. I love poetry. And I’ve lost my beloved poetry book, let alone my talent. My talent has gone with the wind and disappeared into a mythical place. Along with my heart and mind. I cannot think straight or feel right. I seek refuge in close company, and it makes me forget about it all. But when I am reminded of all the damned affairs, I lose strength. The barriers collapse and in come the wretched cavalry. Then for hours on end, through a twisted cycle, I battle with self matters, trying to annihilate the pathetic, useless memories and so-called mindlessness matters. Argh! It irritates me so. Too much to even seek blame. There is no point in pointing the finger here. Perhaps such things are meant to happen, but then, my anger must have a reason to be so vibrant. I feel like I should destroy and break something. Break it so it feels how distorted my mind is. A beautiful, massive pandemonium.
I just want to break every little piece apart with my bare hands, so that whatever’s in my grasp, feels the intensity of anger in my blood. God, break this.