Too much. There is so much pressure that everything is blurred. My mind is foggy, as if along the way I lost what kept on driving me forward. I got stuck in the past. And now I have no clue as to how to move on. And I search, and search and I can't find it... There's something stopping me from breathing, as if there's a filter. And the air is not allowed to pass. I used to long for love. I used to long for the feeling of being loved. But what I didn't see was that I have to long for feeling love. I want to love. Someone. I want to give away. I want to catch all the torn and wretched pieces and give them to someone. In offer. The sparkle. The drops. One by one. Echoing inside my brain...

How does one find themselves? How does one connect to the source. What about stripping myself of the useless top layer that just grows thicker and thicker. The sea, the way it it it. I long for you. JJ AJOAJAAOJJJJJJQOJAAAAAAA

QN TAKE me with you. Pulsations. Beatings. Feeling lonely and pointless. How can you? Stop. Why does it not make me feel better? Why don't I feel better. Instincts, irresponsability or need? Which one? Treating them as instincts is clearly not making me feel any better inside. Only anxious. Leaning on the very edge of chair. Reaching for the sky. Floor. Which one is the way? Should I not be so worried? And if so, how does one detach from such overpowering thoughts? That haunt me. My mind. At night. Right now. Just now. Killing me softly and slowly and in such a pleasurable way. How do I deal with the fact that I know what is wrong? Make it right? Sadly the river keeps on running. And my insignificant existence is not able to fight against the tide. Are you (conscience) getting the best of me. Sucking whatever it is that lies within me, out. Turning me outside in or inside out or the opposite way. What about this constant dissatisfaction? Does the wind not blow, does its breeze keep you cold or refresh you. Two. Two points of view. What about a thousand? A million? Guidance from inside my brain

which drive me closer to insanity than I've ever been or desired to be. Close the fucking window, it's cold. Is it not? Yes. Leave. Me. Behind. Let me know. Say goodbye?