It feels like this. It feels like you have words dying to escape from you, words that you're too scared to pen down because you know they are true. They are laced with your own desires and ambition which are probably too big for your own good. Yet you feel them too much and this fuels these words. You know that when the words come you are probably going to let them come out anyway. Because you think that this is your gift to the world and that this would somehow make a difference to someone somewhere. You dont think much about these words, you let them rush out of you, in no order whatsoever. You let them say what they want to say, never what you want to say. You let them own you and then torture you but you also realise that these words built you up (but they crush you first). You hear these words and you are ashamed but you dont want to take them back because you know that they are meant to be heard. You feel like you've been betrayed and misunderstood but you know that they are mere reflections of you. These words, they are you. They are every thought you've conceived, every secret you've concealed, every feeling you've suppressed and every intention you've decided to not put into action.

It feels like this. You speak big words and then you hear them and then you feel inadequate. Because you know words are never enough just like how you are never going to be enough.

It doesnt feel better that most of my words are about you.




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It's midnight and it's raining (typical Manchester weather). I am confused and overwhelmed by unecessary and irrelevant emotions. I really dont know who/what/why/where/how am I writing (about). I just needed to. Ignore my bad grammar and incoherence. I can't be bothered. CANT I JUST BE NUMB.

Rant over. Back to contract.

Labels: word vomit., writing the unwritten, you