There are days where writing becomes impossible. I don’t mean that in the sense that I don’t know what to write. Writer’s block is no stranger to my life, and even when I have it, I know how to handle the trouble. No. The time where writing becomes extremely difficult is when everything I write is nothing I want to share with anyone. Everything I write is meant for my eyes and mine only. It’s nothing I want anyone to see.

We all have the sides we want to keep hidden from the rest of the world, but there comes a time where bottled up feelings become shaken. A few twists of my cap, and eventually they would all just explode. I have my ways of handling. Not obvious? I write it all out. All of it. Every pain, every frustration, every tear, whether it’s necessary or completely pointless. Five paragraphs, five hundred to eight hundred something words later, and then I’m perfect again. By perfect, I mean I am the average mess I’ve always been.

The writing… my writing… it’s darker than what any of you usually read on here. It’s cruel, it’s borderline monstrous writing that throws me deeper into the shadows with each word I type, with each situation I create. I write stories that are meant to be broken, that are meant to be deleted the second they’re done. I write the worst fantasies of the people of my past, my present, perhaps even a few who may be in my future. I write about the people who aren’t real, and I make their life a nightmare. Why?

Because I can. The end. Anecdote over.

No, just kidding, but that in reality makes more sense. Of course, I’m not here to make sense am I? No, no, no. I’m here to give ridiculously long explanations that only paint the night darker. All I can do is cover each star in the sky until the entire night is pitch black. An evening under the stars, or better yet, an evening under nothing.

Writing gives me the power. How dark, how twisted I am to be confident in this fact. Part of me wishes I wasn’t like this. Part of me wants to tell those happy stories that make everyone feel wonderful, and teaches people a lesson without making their little lens they use to view the world change. Instead I twist the pretty world so many people tend to see and just destroy it. Piece by piece. That’s not true either. If demolition of the entire world is on my mind, I’m destroying it altogether. One shot, one kill. A true work of art.

Are my words starting to worry you? No? Good, I suppose we can all still be friends. We’ll leave it at that. What? My words are making you anxious after all? Even better. It helps prove my point, dark minds are meant to remain hidden in the shadows. You’ll never see us coming that way.