I wish I could write the way I think

Incessantly, infinitely, frantically

To the point of suffocating thoughts

But I write nothing closely

My thoughts not in sync with my actions

Desperately fixing myself when nothing is broken

Gathering pieces which never shattered

An illusion I created on my own

My agony labelled me as unique

The way I see the world is not how it is

Mending the broken world around me

Allowing myself a sense of peace

Egotistical I am to fix others and ignore my flaws

Finding closure for the wounds inflicted on me

I am not patching myself up

Vanishing in the sound of silence

Outside of time in empty space

I am nowhere, I am nowhere

* Over a decade ago, I felt something like this, as if I didnt exist and I was nowhere