Young Writers Society

This is why I don't write, because when I write I write myself in circles that loop in a never ending cycle. I try hard as I might to write myself out of my head, but I'm caged in here looking out as if through glass. You can see right through glass. You can trust it. But I can see through me, and I don't like what I see.

Inside me is a ghoul, trapped with me in the glass. It's sharp but dull, achy and longing, each time subsiding for shorter and shorter periods. Each time I fight it more vigorously, but each time I'm defeated more thoroughly; I'm forced to sit back and watch as it envelopes me and tears me away from the world. It finally sleeps and I don't know how to find my way back. When your prison is glass you can never be sure where the walls stop and where the winding maze corners make their sharp turns. You stumble against them and have to right yourself before the ghoul takes it's chance.

Each high is higher with a sharper drop, the ride over quickly and the drop not quite lethal. Hard enough to stun, but not hard enough to disappear. The lows drag on, a slow crawl through an obstacle course I just can't seem to find the end to. Never knowing when I'll finish, just focusing on not falling, not flailing, not failing. Resistance is met with equal resistance.

If I write I write in loops, leading back onto themselves and then on to new places. My train of thought races on until it takes a turn too sharp, shattering the glass, releasing the ghoul. An abrupt ending that makes no sense, leaving dissatisfaction all around