fragments

i feel like breaking a mirror and looking into all the shards at my reflection. that would be an accurate self portrait.
everything is complex; levels; theories. psychology, christianity, upbringing, scorpio. motherhood, cycle, phoenix. i am poetry. really, really bad poetry.

there are too many voices in my head. fuck you, hot topic shirt, i will not avoid your cliche. there really are. i feel crowded. i want the pensieve from harry potter to take some out and put them in. i want to get a hat that says "maximum occupancy" and an allotment on it.

the only time i feel streamlined or honest or right with myself is when i'm writing cracked. it's like i've found my voice, but it's only accessable through the keyboard. i deal in silent words, folks.

i've had a headache for a week, and i never know what i want to eat, what i want to do, what i want to see, to feel. good is not enough, great is too much, lonely is awful and together is smothering. everything i should be thankful for is burdensome and everything solid, i am scared to lose. i have irrational fears that are too childish and/or controversial to put down, here. i am driving badly and can't complete sentences that i start, in conversation.

is it possible to be addicted to multiplicity? or is it just that i don't know how to be singular?