Uncomfortable

With No Thought.

For one to sit and face the words of the mind is uncomfortable.

For one to sit and let the mind release the millions of thoughts that beat and torture your soul is a painful thing to do, yet so pleasurable, like a drug. This...how shall I put it, this writing, text, or form of art we call expressing our mind. The Question lies in the thought of how does one express their mind when we are unsure of what we think, what we do and how we think. I spend and watch myself wander in this physical realm we call the earth and the real life in this so called "body" when most of the time I forget that I live. that this is Life, and the thoughts that pull on my energy, and happiness, and mindfulness dull out the touch of warmth I wish to feel from my fingers. What is it when you yourself bring yourself down, when you wish and love to see others happy, yet in your self...you feel alone. Empty. An endless Void, an Enigma, because how do you explain something you yourself cannot explain. Eventually you give up explaining because you realize no one comprehends your mind, you learn that no one will ever understand...and that's the only thing you understand. Developing a strong barrier in the mind that refuses to express yourself to other people, to bottle it up, eventually drowning yourself in a pool of dark matter, in a dark, fucked up place you learn to call your own mind, being trapped, longing and mourning to be released from the chains that bind the bright light you once were. Its absurd how its impossible to explain yourself to a human being, your parents, your friends. The power it takes to obscure your dark clouds from forecasting onto other people to not be a burden, and to not be pitied, the power it takes to pull a smile in the physical body, inside a a crying, cold, creature birthed from confusion and hatred and fueled by regret and eating away at the fruit we know as love. This is what I think all day, this is what my mind cultivates when I finally let my fingers show me how I feel.