A young man who's mind will not shut off at the end of the day. Thought's seemlessly evolve in his mind. Ideas, visions, dreams, desires, nightmares, feelings, everything! All at once, overwhelming his sense of being, confusing his every thought. Second guessing everything, everyone, every decision, every thought. Nothing it seems can keep his feet planted on the ground, the slightest distraction, the faintest noise, the most vivid thought, and it carries his mind elsewhere, but through time and practice he has learned to come back from those thing's, but it is getting more and more difficult. An all out assault on his senses, the world is to him. Overwhelming him at times, he think's he will be unable to sustain himself, his life, and sometimes, most often than none, wishes to leave this world, in search of another, one with less stress, worry, death, unhappieness, debt, disese, atrocities. Then something good come's along or he get's some rest and he is ready to start anew, until again, yet another hurdle comes along and knocks him to the ground, making him want to leave yet again, to despair, to hate, to not dream of good dreams but dream of bad dreams, to dream of hate, to dream of violence, to dream of hate. He thinks sometimes he would like to leave, but it would not be fair to those around him who seem to like him or at least look for him in their daily lives. So he quietly keep's these thought's to himself, and unknowingly to the people who like him, know of these feelings that are inside of him, his mind, his person. Living day to day, hurrying to the end, mostly to just get it overwith. Hurry up and die already, get it done, let's leave this place. Seventy or so more year's left to go, mabye I won't make it to nintey-five, a ripe old age indeed, seasoned and wise, but without the emotional armor to protect one's fragile mind, he will not live to see nintey-five, or will he? A small, very small voice whispers in his mind, do not give up, thing's will be alright, while the other screams, destroy, kill, murder, nothing will be alright, worry about this, think about this horrible event....he shake's his head while horizontal, rolling on his side, desperately trying to erase the thoughts and projections in his mind. A normal life, a simple life, is all he want's. Simple is unobtainable now, normal, well what is normal in the first place. No one knows what goes on in his mind, no one cares or inquires, only because he does not let on that anything is wrong, dare he slip and the demon escapes, pouring out into text, sketches, poems, physical acts, music, whatever. To be looked upon as a freak for the bottled up rage and anger that he has carried on for so long, ever since a child, never having a moment's peace, never being able to truly be a child without having to worry or referee the parents. He feel's lost, and hopeless, useless and un-noticed. Everything was going good, well, grand, dandy, fine, then he got loose again, emerging through his childhood, his companion who told him to be tough, now is telling him the harsh reality of life. Soon, life as he know's it will be over, and the life he led will be un documented, except in his mind, everything in his mind, from birth to death, the rememberance of a single event, a small detail, is all stored in his mind, never forgetting, always thinking, remembering selectively what is deemed as important. Trying to make sense of it all, always asking why, forever dreaming and imagining. He remembers a life of color and freedom, of peacefull power, and the grey fog that swirls in his mind, is slowly but surely begining to evaporate, to disapate, and the light is shining through, he is awakening, he no longer wishes to leave, he wishes to stay, to make the very damned best of it, if not for himself, then for her.
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