The stupid life I have

Mess

It's a mess, always.
Really, always.
And it's always the same too.
Always the same time that I start writing because I don't know what else to do.
Because I can feel their eyes.
Feel them on my head that is tilted down so all they see is my hair hanging infront of my face.

I think I'm scared.
But I don't even know why.
And I realise that that is what I always write.
I don't know, it is what it is or I don't like beeing like this.

But well I mean this thing here isn't meant to solve any problems, only to write them down so they don't stick in my head anymore.
Because the mess that is my head is fucking chaotic and blurry.
I can't seem to get one thought that is clear. They are all pilled up on top of eachother and everytime I pull one out, the whole tower collapses.

Not only that the tower collapses, it also burns.
It burns everything down and the thoughts that get lost in the fire, scream and cry so loud my ears hurt.
I hate when everything burns.
I hate it when my ears and lungs hurt and ache because of the fire that is inside of them.
Maybe, someday I'll get to escape from the tower.
Escape from the fire and all the death.
Someday, maybe.
Someday, for sure.

After the fire, there is only smoke and ashes.
Nothing in the tower.
Only the main walls are still standing.
Like a burnt skeleton it creaks and shakes in the wind of the thoughts that are flying by.

And these pictures, that I create by writing it all down, now live in the tower as well. The difference is, that every brick is now painted in a different colour and the collums are sturdier than before.
Now the tower won't crush down, it will keep on standing.

Just when there is no more space in my head, it will get knocked down and everything will burn in the colours of the bricks.