Thinking

When I am alone in the car, I can allow my obsessions to take me to other places. Music can transport me to another world and sometimes I feel like I want to stay there forever, or at least long enough to get something written. A few chapters, a few lines, the beginning of an outline of sorts. I have so many stories in my mind and I know that I was meant to be a writer. I don't know why I am so hesitant to bring that dream to life. Maybe I am afraid that I will be taken over by some sort of demon writer and never come back again. Maybe I am not wanting to let go of the secret thoughts that are hidden so deep inside. I do have a dark passenger, one that is wanting to be free. I sometimes feel that I need to feed this side of me or die. I dream of blood and violence and places unknown, but somewhere in my mind they are familiar. I have tapped into something here and I'm ready to let it go. I want to commit, I am afraid to commit, I know this is what I need like I need blood coursing through my veins. I see the blood and I see the person I have become dying. I want to be real. I don't want this feeling to end. This dreamlike state of mind that is who I really am. This person that I always try to shove down further and tell to keep still. I am me.