A Plathitude

When critics screech I just smile.

Then I find a rock. I put it in my pocket and I wait.
I have ever so many now.

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Right now, I feel as though words are these giant soap bubbles.
Impossibly large and beautiful and so wickedly hard to grasp.

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I should know better than to wait between a wall of words and the computer. Doing anything else brings it down like a midget with a trumpet.

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What IS crazy, after all? Is it a convenient definition to let us ignore what makes us uncomfortable? Is it a way to ostracize those who need help?

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Screaming nightmares aren’t the worst.

Oh, no. The worst are the ones that you wake up from and then think Am I really awake?  and then your brain answers Sure you are. Wanna kill something? 

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That horrifying moment as you hover over the -Publish- button, wondering if today is the day they send for the nice young men, in their bright white coats.