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08.10.09

I have nothing to say because I have nothing to think. My mind is parched of the juices of existance. The blood that trickles from my veins is black and sour. I try to siphon my thoughts of emptiness into one single point; one pinnacle of reality. But the detonation of brilliance eludes me.
I wallow in my blankets. I overheat my body, sweating, hoping the poisons will crawl out from my pores. I close my eyes and see words written across my eyelids. These words.
My story is humiliating and it reeks of the mundane. I cannot look you in the eye. This inspiration is putrid and selfish and speaks to no one but me.

I wish that I could speak to you.

But when I am around you I am deprived of eloquence. My vocalizations turn simply to talk or worse... mutterings. And you dismiss me like everyone else because they challenge no thought for you. I know that I could invigorate your mind and yet I know that I can't.
We think alike... when I can think, and you're not scared to share your thoughts. But I am. As I said, my story is humiliating.