Pisaries Creator

I’m anxious in my thoughts. I don’t know where to turn. I only know north is up. It should be up, but my compass tells me something different. I don’t know what to do with this. The fear sets in, the sheer panic, I am lost again. This time I don’t have a car to bring me to a destination that has a fifty percent chance of being right when comparing it to an old map I have stuffed in my jacket pocket. This scenario doesn’t matter anymore. Why do I bring it up? I have nothing left but my mind really, so I go in again, deeper this time. I have nothing else to lose.

I think of the people who have died and even more that will die before me. I won’t ever meet them. I’m not even sure if I care about them. I don’t know what they look like, how they talk to themselves, how they treat their family members. Do they stare into the mirror at night and curse any part of their body for not cooperating with their ideal image of themselves? Do they scream at strangers from the core of their assumed injustices and betrayals? Most of all do they purposely go out of their way to take away days of one’s life because it makes them feel good, as if they are doing the Lord’s work, when reality dictates the opposite? They are not the servants of God as they like to portray themselves to be. They aren’t working for the Devil either but to combat their own guilty consciences.

Changing direction within my mind, going further than before, I recognize something sinister. The feelings inside me aren’t tied to one subject but many. There’s more pain to find when you are given the chance to open the windows a little more. I don’t know what kind of window I should open first. There are big locks on some of them. Others don’t have any locks. Some have been broken either by myself although I have no recollection of doing this or by someone else hoping to break in to find out what I won’t tell them. A few have handles to grip. I have a decent sized hammer I could use to pry a few open, but I can circle back around on my way out. There is something more pressing to focus on, the noises behind me.

When I look toward the noise, it sounds like stupid birds squawking, many stupid black birds with long tails. They aren’t crows or grackles. They are a different species although I can’t see them because they don’t exist. Wherever this sound is coming from might’ve been new and I could’ve gotten credit for finding this new sound. I had never heard this kind of noise before, the pitch and everything you can’t see when it comes to sound. It’s not as if I’m new to this area. I’m quite familiar with the process. I’ve known the best noises to make when it really counts.

The section kiddy corner to the noise is quick, fast energy, hopping from one thought or idea to the next. Sometimes one out of the hundred gets another second of attention. These become etched somehow into the mind and leads to another question or thought or idea. Eventually they are forgotten unless I write them down. This is not a game but this area in my brain likes to play tricks on me. Forces me to feel things I don’t want to feel. Makes me visualize the moments I want to erase from my mind. I want to unzip my flesh and leave this body for something new. This is not the way humans operate and I am forced to stay.

I am nowhere near the end, but my time allotment is coming to an end. I can feel it. My being has traversed up and down the paths. None of them feel right. None of them make me proud. None of them make me satisfied. I don’t feel alive even though I’m breathing. Honestly, I’ve been stuck high enough in the dirt to not use my legs and arms to my advantage. Back when it was mud, I didn’t take it seriously. Now, I try but the emotions are stuck in the past. I’m not sure how to generate enough light to maintain power over my shadows. I’ve stared in short and long mirrors my whole life. Do I recognize what I’ve become? Is there any more meaning to my existence? All I can feel and say is I don’t know. I really don’t know.