Introversion Impulses – 7


I don’t like talking to people for a reason, I don’t want to deal with your emotions of trying to understand mine, yes call me cold if it makes you feel warmer, I’m happier in containment, detainment, refraining and abstaining and believe me, it’s for your benefit, not mine. I’ll talk to my page and if I don’t like what it reads back at me, I’ll tear it out and burn it to a crisp and if I don’t like the way the pen flows, I’ll break it and get another, and if the black doesn’t look good on white, I’ll take to it with red and let the blood speak louder than ink, through it’s cross hatched fibres sink, let it speak louder than words, disassemble the assembly of words, the syllable herds, soldiers of nouns, adjectives, and verbs, lines of psychotic disturb, leave it unread, unheard, unfocus me, blurred, brain stroke me, words slurred, just let me be that guy who says shit absurd.

No, I don’t think you’d take it too well if I splattered you with my blood, so enjoy my silence as a form of merciful relief, ignorance is never bliss unless the ignorance involves sheltering from being exposed to too much and what I say is too much, it has no filter, so better I say too little and even that will be too much, your ears won’t like the way my words awaken areas of your life you’d long forgotten about, but writing has only privileges, privileges that can’t be met by human deficiencies, deficiencies of you, deficiencies of me, there, I’ve told you mine, can you tell me yours?


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