It Seems There Can Never Be An End To It

Right now there is screaming, shrieking like trapped rodents careening through crystal. Screams and broken glass fill my head. I fight this, have fought it, I try and it returns. I don't dare let it take over, I know the results (scars). Sometimes it will dim and I can think, create. Sometimes if I force myself in front of canvas or paper it will, for a time recede.

As long as I remember I have searched for peace, serenity, tranquility. And still chaos engulfs me. At the moment I want the screams to come out physically, I want to take all of my canvases, finished and unfinished and slice them to bits and throw them in the street. All I can see is crap in them, nothing that means anything. I can't find my core, the truth, I am so chained by mundanities. I know, I know they are necessary for life, but it is sucking my soul dry. Heh, oh no I am not the 'tortured artist'. Hell, I am simply tortured and by my ownself. The ways I hurt myself, the pit of mud encrusted with glass into which I slip, these are of my own creating and so I can't escape them. Or I don;t know how.

Amusingly, to other people, I am very much in control. I have been told many times what a sunny disposition I have and how I bring light into my coworkers' lives. Seriously. I hear these things and I smile more and inside the beast with razor claws and bloody teeth, crouches and waits for its next moment to attack.

I want to be free. I don't know how. I want to dissolve on the wind and go gusting through the trees.
artistAgnes artistAgnes
36-40
Jul 13, 2010