The Madness To Write

Are words still relevant? Why blog when a billion eyeballs glued to Instagram can’t see beyond the selfie pic? Why publish another piece of my consciousness when it will just starve and wither away in a Wordpress graveyard. Must be the madness of art that needs to be written by any means necessary. Create or implode.

I write to hear myself think. It’s my existential unraveling. I use words as sutures and temptation. The madness is the awakening. Words are the real pictures in my head. I try to smile in photos, keep it light on Snapchat but there’s a lot more going on. Underneath my skin and beyond Twitter’s 140 characters the realest things rage and retreat. The angst and awareness. What I am and what I was meant to be.

My shadow sits across the room. Ego standing in the doorway. Caught between the future and standing still I write how I really feel. I let the words fit the profile.

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