Free writing

I used to love free writing - when you just let your pen go, you don't really think. I did these on the plane last. I don't really need to post now, these say everything for me... I'm no poet, so don't be hatin'.

Unfinished

More than anything, I
have to get what I want.
What I want.
What do I want?
That incomprehensible question
full of lies and decit; there
is no right answer -
therefore there is no answer. Yet
there must be an answer to
that burning, tearing question for
the sensation is
the answer and
the sensation is
undenaiable.
So, the answer does exist
somewhere in this wretched soul.
But, when pain and anguish and fervent lust,
the flaming hate that destroys, is
the sensation
do I need to know the answer?
Do I need to search myself and soul
to find the thing that torments,
to humanize the monster within,
and fullfill the unquenchable desire
to know what I desire
truly, and
wholly?



Hate

H is for the hunger
that only sometimes exists, yet
constantly devistates the mind
A body in revolt;
A soul shattered.

A is for the acceptance
we know will come, despite
the intelligence possessed by
The ravaged psyche
The beautiful boned

T is for the terror
of human imperfection, that
is imposed by a plural force
Of mass-media
Of mind(less/full) self

E is for the essentialist
thinking of black and white, obsessed
perception of beauty and control that
Makes us feel worthy
Makes us feel real.