I tear at my hair with the savage intent of a hungry tiger. This is not how it is meant to be. This is not… not… but I cannot find the words, they are lost in a mist of tumbling red where glaring eyes fire and vicious disassemblers of dreams lurk. I have lost myself. I am lost.
Breathe, I say. Write just write. Lose yourself to worlds and places others do not know. Throw yourself upon midnight dreams and cloak yourself in darkness. Cast yourself upon swords of your own creation and lick away the blood with false relish. They will not find you, I insist. They will never know I’m here, I try to convince myself. But, they do. I am always found.
Frustrations abound in this cacophony of me, this unsettling of self. I shake my head and scream, but nobody hears, not even me. Fingers clench until my fists turn white shaking with something… something, but I’m unsure what?
This world is a strange and wonderful place. There is so much potential, so much scope to make marvels of all that we know and all that we see. This world is a place for all people, all minds and bodies, but not mine. Like a jigsaw with an extra piece, I am surplus to this place. I find it… frustrating!