i used to be a slave to the words that were all i could hear, that consumed my only clear thoughts and ideas. i used to be obsessed with capturing them and wrangling them into exactly what i meant them to be. and that proved too hard, because i am weak and words are fickle.

i used to stare at everything in my sight as hard as i could to get the exact picture i wanted to capture. i used to wonder about who and what and when and where. the permanence of the captured picture brought me back in time, into memories and old sights and places. i took a camera with me everywhere so i could capture all of my thoughts, all of my feelings and memories. and that proved too hard, as pictures develop into nothing unique, nothing clear.

i used to draw and shade and mold and touch. my fingers needed to create, needed to explode. i created what was easiest, what flowed out with no second thought. i used to try and let it take over me. and that proved too hard, as my hand seized up and i gave up. because of talent. because of pain. because nothing came rushing through my fingertips.

i used to think myself into different lands, different lives and different ideologies. i used to get lost within nothing, easily distracted by the cycles in my head, the cycles of life and love and death and pain. that proved too hard, because i am weak and only wanted numbness, darkness, thoughtlessness.

the thoughts and words and pictures and ideas dulled into the ordinary. everything has the same release that nothing does. how exhausting, when i only need a little bit of release. i have dulled myself into oblivion while looking for adrenaline. and now it looks like i'm out of chances, because i gave up. because i am so weak.