ramblings

Her words flowed out like the music running through her body. God what a rush, all the forgotten feelings associated with, and pointedly, her writing. She wasn’t quite sure why she’d missed the feeling so much, the release of the thoughts, the emotions clogging up her mind, and yet in this instance she could not find her release. So near was she to smashing her head against a wall, ‘I cannot do this’ she thought, ‘not again. I cant confess my sins to a paper and have nothing to show in return, except the gratification of few faithful readers. Why do I so oft put myself through this strenuous laborious task, which I find myself to be a little less than ordin’ry at. Wont someone correct my faults? And let it be shown, all my scars, my wrong hoods, the incorrect grammer that I am so prone to showing. Where is all my honesty, my vulnerability that they who wish to feed upon like vultures to a rotted corpse? Yet, here come all the meaningless words, like a release to a dam that once been cracked could not be sealed.’ She could not stop the steady flow of verbs and adjectives rushing into being around her. this was never what she wanted. Just justification, she just wanted to know why she wrote with such an unstoppable force that she herself could not control. ‘Why can I not harness my own abilities, my own words, my own mouth, my own heart?’ she knew deep within her core, her reasons for having such a lack of free will. she was the universes’ bitch to do with as it pleased. Without the great mother of everything her existence was everything but what it was. No longer existence, but an idea amoungst the thoughts of many others, ‘the universe created me, and oh mother she will break me.’ She sighed letting her dramatics take over ‘Oh mis-use me like an excerpt from a book’ she thought at the universe, ‘take my life and make it nothing but a chapter in the lives of many, and the happy ending to none, for what ending could run happily if I were a part?’ she then wiped her weary eyes wondering what thing could drive you to feel such a sense of apathy for your exitensce. ‘Through no fault of my own was this feeling made, it was thrust upon me like that of a burden from a father to a son, of which I am neither.’ She glanced again over her incessant ramblings and thought, ‘if shakespeare can do it, why cant I?’