Prisoners of a Mind


I have been trying to escape my mind for a while now. But the tragedy remains, I can never truly tear myself away from it. You can choose to avoid places you don’t want to visit, you can avoid seeing people you don’t want to see, but you can never avoid your mind. You are trapped in it. You can try to run, but it will chase you down. You can try to let the delirium pass, but it will revisit. An unhealthy mind is your biggest fear come true. My mind has been my best friend for years. What happens when your best friend turns on you, tortures you and leaves you begging for a mere breath? The thought of the betrayal leaves me paralyzed. This time, there is nothing beautiful about the darkness that has descended. There is no God, there is no family. You walk among them, but invisible. You see, the two faces that you develop are such a well-coordinated design that no one suspects a thing. It’s difficult to make sense when I talk now. My thoughts are all over the place. In my thoughts, I find myself taking leaps of freedom into the night sky, dotted by the bright silver stars lighting up the darkness; I try to reach for one. But I cannot. It’s another one of my illusions. My mind is a piece of art. Wild art. An illogical, unappreciated, misinterpreted, grotesque piece of art.

It’s not about trying to prove what’s right or wrong. I have a mind of blurry lines more commonly characterised as free and non-judgemental. But it’s not easy. The blurriness has transcended the real mental barriers and tricked into my abilities of decision-making. It’s not about what I want anymore, but what I could do to please somebody else. Trying to be another well-fitted person has made my life bleed more than when I was nothing but myself. But who remembers who that used to be?

My mind is in a riot. I wish the screaming would stop. I wish they would stop killing each other, stomping over corpses of teenagers. There is shooting, there is stabbing. There is no compassion. There are tears. And finally, there is a silence of death. Maybe there is no peace like the peace of a riot.

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