#*huff huff*

plus sketches cause...s2 lloyd ;-;

there's something burning inside of me, raging in the back of my mind. all this time, it's quiet, like a sated snake sleeping, but sometimes, whenever it wakes up, the slithering-crawling feeling inside of me turns my skin inside and out. the snake makes me want to scratch at my skin, tear open the fabric of my being and give it away. let the snake out and terrorize some other poor soul but myself whom it has terrorized all my life

what does it want, you ask, well i'll tell you. it wants to be at the top, above the never-ending to-do list of house chores, work feedback and work prep to get around to, keeping my sanity intact and my body healthy, keeping up w the trends, w friends, going to events, and exploring the world—when all i and the snake really want to do is explore the deep recesses of my mind and the space between it, the real world, and the unrealized world

yes, it agrees, let's live here and make things happen, make your wishes and those of others you care abt a reality, but no, it also says, put me above all else, put me above all else or i will crawl along your teeth and poison every word you say until you're all alone and there's nothing left in you but me and the words that i say

sometimes, it's satisfied, when i'm learning smt new, or making new friends, or experiencing new things, or like right now, when i'm writing the words screaming at me to let them out while shaking the cage of my heart and tearing up my lungs. then i'm forced to go silent, and the words fly out of me like debris from an explosion. they fly out of me and onto the page—the screen where they'll be seen

and they always want to be seen. whereas i don't. i'm content to give them their stage, presented to the world, and raise them up even when i'm dying of embarassment inside. there's nothing else for it. the words and the snake are one and the same. they operate on the same level and demand the same things from me, but it's not like i disagree. no. they say the words i really want to say, the words—the thoughts and feelings—burning at the back of my mind, drowning out the rest of my life like sounds surrounding a waterfall

--- end prose, begin explanation ---

try as the world might—family, friends, love and a lover, a career, money, a beautiful house, a nice car, travelling abroad every month, a PhD, the Peabody award, the Nobel peace prize, being the best at what one does—it doesn't matter

nothing matters to the snake. all that matters is the hiss of its tongue and the words at the back of its throat, rattling the cage. it wants to be heard. it wants to be seen. and so it shall be

sometimes, it's like i'm normal. i sleep, i eat, i laugh, i talk, i work, and i play, etc. but then, sometimes, this happens and... i'm unhappy. it doesn't matter whether i was laughing right before or not. a sick feeling washes over me, sticks to my skin like disgusting goo, and just won't leave

i can't explain it. idk where it comes from. best i can say is that i want to live in a world of magic and dragons. i want to live in a world with more silly and awe than taxes, a 9-5, and horrible crime, but maybe, all the worlds are like that, that it's inevitable when so many diff kinds of ppl come together

but if that were truly the case, i don't mind living in fiction. call it, a deep sense of dissatisfaction if you will, but it is what it is. maybe it is rude to the ppl who care abt me, to the ppl i care abt, and the things i want to do here but if everything is so well here, then why do i want to leave here? i just don't understand

i want more time. i want more money. i want more energy, but rlly, i just want to experience more things—varied, new, not always stuck to one routine like i always fall back to—and, most importantly, just. WRITE. MORE. i want to write and write and write and write and write and write and write and write some more

idc if i end up not accomplishing anything outside of my writings, but please dear god (idc for the gender, the personality, or their moral alignment), DEAR GOD, i want to write! please let me write!

my mom asked me what i wanted to do, but i can't rlly answer her, well, with a straightforward answer. a teacher? an engineer? she's suportive but i'm vague and indecisive

i think i'm a failure and i'm sorry, so, so sorry she had to have me as a daughter, so much wasted potential, but by god, can't i just be a writer?

i can scream and cry and beg as much as i want but it will never be. oh. how much more will living this life take from me?

TLDR writing is VERY important to me. it's the very fabric of my existence

tagging: @nerdlordvidal @jeahreading @the-actual-timberwolfe @burntberyl bec i want to hear what you have to say (if any)

My brain:

[Day 06 - Drooling] 

Marley-Christmas!