Free Verse

         The world's racing, passing me by at three hundred miles per hour, and my cars busted down. I'm walking through while people pass me by, giving me odd looks. It's killing me, this pounding on the inside of my skull, like a thousand gremlins have decided to carve mount rushmore out of my brain.  Every chisel tap rocks through my brain with a new thought.
         Ah, the bane of the creative mind, to be able to think things no one else does, but at the same time assaulted by the barrage of ideas. Most are bad, and should never be realized in reality. Some drown themselves in narcotics and alcohol, just trying to escape these images. It starts as trying to avoid them just for a short time, then soon enough you have addicts, and eventually suicide.
         Now I'm not a proud man, I have contemplated suicide a couple times, but never seriously. More as a permanent escape. I know however that I also want to stay and realize the good ideas, see them become reality. Paintings locked in the back of my mind that warp and shift the longer you look, music that doesn't seem to exist but can still make you smile, poetry that should never be read, so depressing that it enforces those emotions on those who read, unable to be critically read.
         How many other artist's have tried things like this? Tried to push the boundaries to their limit, just so the next generation can break it. Even without the alcohol and narcotics slowly seeping into their minds, they managed to use their demons rather than be engulfed by them.
         It's like riding a surfboard living my life, riding high on the waves and laughing and smiling for days at a time, waking up smiling, singing to myself as I skip down the hall. Then a day later I'm looking at everything like it's melting away, leaving me in a broken abyss.
          This beautiful girl has entered my life, and shows no sign of leaving it. I'm in the reclusive depressive phase and still she sticks by. No matter how hard I tried to push her away she would stay by. It wasn't I didn't want her there, at that moment she was the most important person in the world to me. It was just me, as a body, couldn't stand the extra thought. It was like a glass filled to the brim and suddenly she jumped in and upset it. Simply try to empty the glass, but she just wouldn't trickle out.
         She was the most beautiful person I had ever seen, not as a sexual object, but just as a person! There was a shining luminosity to her eyes, leading you to believe nothing wrong had ever happened to her. More akin to an angel than a human, she seemed good and pure. Opposed to me, why would she want to be with me? I was host to a polluted body, a polluted mind, scarred by a bad childhood. Constantly chased by a cloud of depression, light breaking through for brief moments when I was described as “charismatic”. But she was different, she seemed to have that luminosity all the time, that light that came in elusive bursts for me were like a constant floodlight for her. It didn't even make me bitter, but an empty spot in my chest became accutly aware of this whenever she was around.
         But it won't work, it can't work. It's just to complicated, and I don't even know why. My logical mind is telling me that this is a good thing, but that dark spot in the back is telling me that it's a fantasy, doomed to end. Because after all everything ends. Even the racing mind after expelling thoughts for anyone to hear pauses and waits until it picks up momentum again. I just hate that the dark spot was right again.