I wish I wrote the way I thought
Obsessively
Incessantly
With maddening hunger
I’d write to the point of suffocation
I’d write myself into nervous breakdowns
Manuscripts spiralling out like tentacles into abysmal nothing
And I’d write about you
a lot more
than I should
Benedict Smith / “I Wish I Wrote The Way I Thought”
I am often questioning myself what I further want to do, who I further wish to be; which parts of me, exactly, are still functioning properly. No answers, darling. At all.
I suddenly feel something about my uncle after feeling numb to it for almost a year.. I will write a poem about him and give it to my grandmother. I think she's still struggling with his suicide/death and I hope it will comfort her..