7

sometimes i wish i could be kinder to my soul.

'wish that i could handle it better or hurt less. just wish to be in harmony with.

but there's a dull ache that follows me. the sensation of being a burden. haunting me and making me feel like i'm too little (i don't express myself enough) and also too much (my sorrow is loud and ugly).

the idea of plurality is another boulder that lives in this backpack. how could i... i.. ever take care of somebeing else, let alone successfully communicate with them.

my head is too noisy. i think in abstract ideas, intentions and emotions. chains of almost perfectly logic and sequential ideas. like a clock spinning its escape wheel against the pallet fork, clicking one idea after another.

how could plurality ever take place in such a dystopian head. such an atypic, logic, literal form of thinking. fed by patterns and triggers. a lack of headspace for anybeing to live in.

i already struggle to clutch into reality-- to keep my grip on my existence-- with enough struggle and fuzziness. i don't think i could tell the signs of someone else being in front.
hell. i can't even imagine how to "just let my guard down" or somehow let go enough for plurality to kick over.

so overall. i think plurality might not happen in a while. maybe ever.
maybe plurality will only happen when i get so drunk that my brain is melding pieces or when i'm so high that nothing makes sense. who knows.

all i know is that i keep kicking my soul around like a ball. following it wherever it takes me through the vast and endless landscape of this mortal realm. keeping my wishful thinking up, hoping that things will improve.

and maybe things improve. i don't think or believe they will anytime soon. but who knows.

i'll just keep having a beer here and there and smoking week if it keeps me sane.

i'd rather be an addict than hit my breaking point.