Like what

I hate myself and I love myself and I am my own worst enemy and everything I could ever adore. Half of the time I have no idea what I’m doing, meaning that I write this sentence not having a clue how to end it and maybe that way it will end up great and maybe that way it will just fade into nothing as the lack of plans mixed with my own fear of action makes me too comfortable with being still. It’s itching, my soul, constantly knocking against the inside of my skin and I turn around secretly and tell it ’hush’ because I am in school or at work or at home and I have no space left around me to explode in. The earth is turning beneath me. Spinning. Walls are vibrating with the sound from the TV in the room next to this, the fridge is humming and everything is making noise, creating soundtrack, making itself heard in a world were nobody listens because why on earth should we, except that it makes me feel alive and so I breathe in. Look out or lock myself in or observe and see and live and listen, to all and everything and nothing and I have no idea how I live or what I see and sometimes I’m collected but this very moment I’m shattered all over the world and I have no idea what I’m writing down on this computer in this room in this tiny huge world but it’s okay. That’s okay.
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