Faraway Lands

I think too much. All of these thoughts flood my head when I lay myself to attempt to sleep and I don't know why I think things too deeply. I write and I write and hope that someday I will empty myself out and I'll feel something different, but I write and I write and it seems like the more I write the more layers of myself I peel and different problems arise and I find out new things and I feel this pressure on my head that is killing me. I read somewhere that you would never see a poet in a bright yellow jacket, and red boots, and while this is true it is also true that you will never find what you are looking for if you are looking for something. I would say I had something to blame why I am who I am, but the truth is I was born this way. I was born twisted and questioning everything, and I never got the answers I required and now that I've reassigned myself from everything I was doing and hope to get some sort of people of mind I somehow can't.

I don't like talking to people, or mingling, or having acquaintances because I just find them to be a big headache that I don't want to deal with, but at the same time I find myself desperate for company, and none of it makes sense. I sleep but I don't really sleep because my thoughts are becoming too much for me. I get extremely busy in order to avoid thinking because I think that will stop me from thinking and I get the urges much worse. I try to do nothing and it seems to stabilize me a little bit, maybe I should try to break from my routine and run away to a faraway land for a while and rediscover myself.



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