Hundreds of little babbling voices in my head
All wrestling for my span of attention
Each one bringing it’s argument forth
To convince me of why it’s idea ought to become alpha thought.
It’s a melting pot, rift with would-be thoughts
Inner demons stir up the concoction
Not satisfied still, they fill it up some more
Till the contents spill over; in doing so, impeding my speed of talk
Faster and faster, I speak, becoming pressed for thought.
That’s why my dialect comes across as hasty and incoherent
For my thought-pot simmers with a million ingredients
So I’m trying to serve you a million opinions
As I think and deliver them through a single medium.
In the end, everything which I say makes no sense
Just random sentences devoid of a specific point of reference
Although I know what I’m getting at
I can never seem to go verbally at it, if that makes sense.
As a result, frustration bubbles on the inside
An allergic reaction from failing to be concise
The harder I try
The more frustrating it becomes, as a slave to a vexed mind.
NOBODY UNDERSTANDS ME!
Frustration itself and frustration of self boils over into manic anger
From passive aggression
Mutating into a grenade-esque temper
Just a slip of a finger away from mass disaster
Whether intentional or accidental.
Once the manic mind seizes control
The mind slips on itself and in doing so, looses it’s firm footing in reality
Jumping head first into the murky bottle of impulsivity
Or is that the bottle of liquor?
Like a werewolf transforming before the silent stillness of night
Wailing and gnashing his teeth before the glare of the moonlight
Drunken savage and violent
Liquor bottle in tow as he hunts in the darkness, filled with the rage that bubbles on the inside.