I'm Thinking: An Anti-Ode To My Brain

I'm thinking I need to write more,

to somewhat relieve my brain of what I'm thinking.

I'm thinking all the time,

and it sometimes feels as though my head will explode

at any given moment.

There are just so many thoughts in my head

so often

that it gets to a point where

I cannot sort them,

or separate them,

even enough to just pick one

and focus on it;

(I get lost when I try too hard.)

So many hours spent like that:

trying,

to no avail,

and d r o w n i n g

in t h i n k i n g

Though I feel as if

writing more would help,

I have to question the notion.

WHY WRITE?

So I can look back on the broken fragments of my raging stream of conciousness and be ever-reminded of probable mental illness?

So I can relive these furious neurofrenzies that, while suffering them, I want so desperately to get out of?

So that these racing, irrational, and neverending thoughts and fears and emotions and ideas will be allowed to live in yet another- now tangible- form and infect someone else?

No. For none of these will I write.

For relief, however temporary.

I will write, if for nothing else, then for momentary escape from this too-open, yet too-crowded prison cell atop my shoulders.

Because I want instant gratification, and because my greatest blessing is also my greatest curse, writing may be able to help me.