A psychotic mind in a bizarre meaningless conversation!

I often wonder how ineffective words are sometimes. Their total inability to express the intensity of our emotions.
Am I trying to create something?
What?
Like a masterpiece!
Masterpiece for what?
My ideas are too blurry.
I guess I am just filling the paper with random words. It’s all gibberish!
I am an artist who has absolutely no idea what he is trying to create.

Isn’t it the indulgence that matters?
There is no rhythm in my music.
My words lack coherence.

I have this silence playing with loud notes that can’t be penned down.
Gibberish! Again!
I sometimes wonder all our attempts to find meaning and purpose are futile.
I often pounder upon the ineffectiveness of speech as a medium.
But haven’t I already said that?
It’s all too ordinary.

Everything is predictable.

It’s like I have been through this all a million times before.

There is nothing even remotely creative about anything I do anymore.
All that I am saying has already been said before. All this has been written many times before by many people.
I have nothing new to contribute.
I hate this burden of insanity.
The burden of maturity, sensibility and responsibilities.
The burden of conformity.
This requirement to be composed and behave!

We have to follow the norms.

And grammar? No?
The fear of humiliation.
Humiliation by whom and for what?
I am making no sense here, am I?
This compulsion of being coherent and necessity for everything to make sense.

I am tired of making sense out of everything all the time.
Sometimes our emotions are chaotic and purposeless. So let be the words too!

Let them reflect a state that is seldom reflected.
But what am I trying to reflect upon?
The compulsions to be successful and to achieve all our goals.
We have an idea we chase it like a mad dog without asking ourselves why we need to validate it so desperately.
This tireless pursuit of never arriving happiness. Fuck all your rules sir!
I have random words with little meaning. It’s all gibberish!
I bet everyone is trying to Psychoanalysis me.

This thin line between madness and ingenuity you know. What matters on which side you fall.
You can tread away and you end up making a complete mockery of yourself.
Why do we have absolutely no one close to our heart?

We are all cursed.
But one should not be a pessimistic. Or too cynical.
Every time a wound heals a scar is left behind. There are many loud notes in the silence that people can’t hear.
They can never experience what you are experiencing.
Explanations are futile.
It is hard to explain what loneliness is.

Loneliness when you are left alone with your compulsions?
It’s like you built invisible fortress around you with walls so high that no one can see through and no one can penetrate.
It’s not that surrounding yourself with a lot of people will makes you feel less lonely. It’s on the contrary sometimes.
Have you ever tried playing random notes without any melody?
We are all suffering and yet a moment can make us happy and makes us forget our suffering.

Won’t you conclude anything?
Ah! This compulsion for conclusions!
This compulsion for beginnings and ends.
Compulsions for perfections.