Have you ever felt like you couldn’t reach your emotions even though you know they exist? For example… you’re in a bubble and tied to the bubble are strands reaching out for distances you can’t even feel but you know that they’re out there. These strands are, what seems, to be only manipulated by you. As you talk to people though you can feel the emotions swirling around you some bouncing off your bubble confusing, what you though was, your steady mind.
All the while you can sense that other people are different and allow the emotions to consume them as though they were trapped with inside their bubble either allowing people in or out and once in a while (whether they’re the center of the crowd or the ghost) their heads would pop with with an emotion around their head whilst the real emotions come crawling up their necks.
The way I’ve been feeling these past days is just me in my bubble. People around me to remind me of certain feelings that will appear in my bubble and will linger on until the day is over. But normally everyone says I just look lost in thought when in actuality I’m thinking of nothing but the beats in my head. It’s not a matter of losing control of my emotions. It’s a matter of me losing the observation to which emotions I should be feeling.
One night this wench had senses that were confused by the drugs inside, but the fixation of the terminal’s dim lighting caught her eye as she called out to the people that she cared about. Luckily, those people despite barely even knowing her, and even those that knew her better than she knew herself, decided that it would be best to sacrifice their boring lives and entertain the little wench because despite how mother fucking badass one is.
In my own bright room I sipped the Bacardi as I chugged the worries in my mind. Slipping into a deep thought I thought about what I could write with a full nights rest despite the hard-on my brain had for giving me a writer’s block. I glanced around the tables looking for something to entertain the wench. Alas, nothing but books and uncompleted projects. I sat there scratching my beard (which needed washing) pulling out the clumps of things that might still be leftover.
I check the images again. Nothing but a series of repeating waving images and the fuzzy image of girl biting the blade. I stare down at the dirty keys trying to think of something to entertain the girl with. Nothing. Nothing at all. Maybe one of these days I’ll write something about some badass crime fighting wench with a butcher’s knife and a killer sense of using computers.