I need to write. Its an urgency. But I just cant. I need to blabber out things. I need to tell myself that I can express myself. But I just cant. I need to figure out things, and I know there is nothing in the world that does it for me other than writing. A friend asked me, ‘ are you drunk?’
Like hell ! i am intoxicated and disillusioned. Will my people help me? No, they can’t. Will love help? It must have died out on its attempts to revive me. Will work help me? I hope it does.
This is suicidal. Knowing that I know that ‘it’ and ‘this’ in particular can never set me free – Never.
I need to write !
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