speed

I wish I could type as fast as I write as fast as I think. Waiting for the world to catch up. wondering what to do next, the decision is mine and mine alone. I write to think and come up short. I write for some sort of approval. To touch the outside world, to distil the crazy into something manageable. like fine whiskey, only time will tell. I want it all now now. Impatient, rash, foolish. Slowing down equals fear of stopping all together. but I need to stop, to shatter into a million pieces, to take the time to put them back together. to look and find what I've lost. it's not lost so much as it's locked away. I'm afraid of myself at times, with valid reasons.

I refuse to lose my temper, lock it down and bury it inside so the rage comes out in tears. I hurt myself before I will hurt others, trying to make everyone happy. Believing the good, trusting to my own detriment. no one is perfect, but I want to be. so I am never content. It's my own fault and I know it. But I'm afraid of being nothingness. stillness. so I runrunrunrunrunrunrun run until I collapse. drinkdrinkdrinkdrink drink until I am stupid. pushpushpushpushpushpush push until the edges give way and the walls come crashing down around my ears.

Am I the unstoppable force or the immovable object?