half sick of shadows

Do you ever feel like a monster in need of a cage? My anger manifests in both passive-aggressive remarks and full-scale demonstrations of rage. I break pencils and hurl innocent pillows against the room when no one is watching. Ink stains on the bed sheets and a trembling hand that scribbles out half-legible phrases. Every so often, striving to be a better person in a civilized world seems like a hopeless endeavor. I want to raise my arms to the heavens and scream, “I can’t do this anymore, take me away”.

You make plans for the future, you pick someone to love, and you stare optimistically into the black nothingness of the future. You grow old. Do the details really matter? In retrospect, the particulars will become fuzzy and then fizzle out all together anyways. I look over these college applications and weep over my indecision. I lay awake at night, sleep no longer an instinct, and meditate the contents of imaginary love letters. I’m beginning to think I’m doing this whole life wrong. We agonize over our happiness until there is no hope for it at all. I must settle down and let the choices make themselves.

I wonder if I’m always this agonizingly incoherent. Even after praise and acknowledgment, I still fear I am nothing short of annoying. How does the rest of humanity walk around so self assured? Here I sit, cryptic and uncertain.

"How do you make God laugh?"
"Make plans."

Perhaps these writings would make more sense if I gave you an adjoining soundtrack to listen to while reading. The way my mind skips from verse, to chorus, to chord progression. The way I rest my hand to my cheek, letting out a frustrated sigh. There are lyrics that rest underneath this page, as I am unable to verbalize the internal changing of the tide without a nudge of musical encouragement.

I’m scared to make plans. Scared to get what I want, afraid it won’t be as good as I’ve dreamt it. Scared the catharsis I wait for will never come.