JUST.

​The inner monologue continues. It questions, it blames, it shames, it mocks, it just continues to nag me day in and out. 

It has turned to a parasite and taken control. Totally overpowers me now, rambles on round the clock. 

It throws me a barrage of questions and intrigues me to think, of people, life, love, of self, greek philosophies, literature, music, pets, kids, books, of society, anxiety, failures, setbacks, of future, of past, of space and sand. 

It exhausts me out. 

My brain, almost dead to cope up with its presence, to sort its subconscious out, to be socially active, is all set for a break down. 

I try out everything.

I write things out, cover it all up under my words, breathe in and out, silently cry the pain, and even shout. Loose myself away in seclusion, travel around, try to find peace in commotion. I meditate, I medicate, I try calling it all my fate. 

Nothing works. 

The voice grows louder and stronger. 

But that’s all on the inside. 

Out here, you see me smile, ready to walk that extra mile. I express nothing of the inner turmoil, instead mask up the calmness and give out some happy vibes. I speak just about the essentials, cut short the conversations, try to keep them real, I ask you to speak out about those inner fears, make you believe in yourself about the upcoming cheers.

There’s this existent zero. There’s this paradox I live in !