Never enough air
to breathe.
Never enough time
to think.
Suffocation.
Drowning.
Let me out God let me out
let me out
let me out letmeoutletmeoutletmeoutletme—
I am
more massive,
more fragile
than you might ever imagine.
I am not
myself.
About Catastrophe Jones
Wretched word-goblin with enough interests that they're not particularly awesome at any of them. Terrible self-esteem and yet prone to hilarious bouts of hubris. Full of the worst flavors of self-awareness. Owns far too many craft supplies. Will sing to you at the slightest provocation.
Felt like I was spiraling down something with you… More massive and fragile, and suffocating at the same time, but these are things that make you a writer I think.
I think they are a part of it. I’m trying to learn how to separate it from myself, but it is very hard to think of writing as a thing I do, rather than who I am. Maybe I don’t have to, but a part of me wants to distill it further. Make more of it. Get more out of it.
I think you just said what we all want.