Minced words

I am absent in my own tongue.

The screams inside are primal, primitive, wild. My crazy screams out at my symptom, the sound is awful. It ruminates round, round, round; trumpets competing for space, for resonance. The sound is shattering. It is maddening. The screeching screams bounce and jitter of the walls. The syptom doesn't absorb any, only bouncing it back. My ears split, bleed from the sound that becomes static, numbing, dumbing.

The words that I use come in a random order; words that's meanings shake and shimmer. I can't keep my thoughts in accessible arrangements. In the background lies my thesis. I can't get it out or make it linger. I never make my point.

Now and again reality is more depressed. My world is now a dark one. I am not really sure why my crazy does the things that it does. I live on apathy. The dream I sleep becomes the only thing that keeps be from disappearing. It becomes the only thing holding me center.

I pitch verbal wars with myself, and I don't put up a good fight. Man you've really fucked up this time, I'll tell my self. But it's not so bad. I'll lower my head in reply, common don't beat your-self up. But man you just really are useless and can't even really figure things out, can you? Things fall apart. Things aren't right. It will all work out, I'll climb out of this rock that holds me and binds me to my crazy. God, you are naïve. You are a fuck without chance of happiness in life. Common' that's bullshit; there are lots of things that can happen, even tomorrow. Shit, you should just do it. I couldn't do it. Could I? Could you? Should I? Maybe just a little cut would be enough. Man, I've got to get out of here.

I pitch verbal wars with myself, and don't put up a fight. It's a useless war. What should I do? How much do I have? I have to get out of here. I'll just skip the rest of reality for today. But that's bullshit and I know it. What the fuck should I do? I can't do anything but try to survive the next six hours till I can go back to sleep and pass through life through the dreams where everything is dizzy blurry wonderful.

In the end I'll use the words that you really want to hear. The words that tell you I am all right. I will mince, spice my words, words that seemingly bind me to life, verbal contracts for life. You'll be content. Words that share your optimism. Milled words that share excitement for life. But be warned: words are minced and shaped, hammered tender and chewable.