I want to force myself to write,
I am too pacified,
too content,
with my existence,
and with yours.
Nothing bothers me,
irks me into the frenzied dependence on my pen as an intoxicant
Nothing forces me into taking refuge in the pages of some words, some story.
I want to, I need to, I would like to be able to...
Can this be real? Could I be too numb to write?
I am too numb.
For after deep turmoil comes numbness!
Or does it?
I cannot tell.
Can you? Tell me? How to get out of this, out of here, where I am, stuck, it seems, for an excruciating eternity?
Maybe if I hurt myself, if I thought about bad things, I would be driven into that frenzy, like actors are. Don't they go to a bad time in life to be able to cry?
I could do that.
It wouldn't be tough!
Wouldn't it?
I cannot tell.
Sitting here, unmoved, un-anything.
They say you should just start, start writing, anything, everything, just make a move at least.
That sounds fair enough.
Or does it?
I cannot tell.
But it doesn't hurt to try...
