Unfinished thoughts

Every being passing around me is a new threat, my eyes rotate and shift like the wind. I don't want to be here, existing in this alien lapse of non-specific events on a stupid, and pointless linear track of "time". Don't look at me, don't see. I hear the moaning and wailing of my inner longing as I undulate at such a repressed frequency. I know nothing but myself. Everything I see is wrong to me. Legs cramp, spine aches, bend me about, twist me into myself, implode into one minuscule pinpoint on a vast spectrum of nothingness, yet somethingness. I want to FEEL fractals of light, I want to TASTE and SMELL spirals of creation within and without. I see words in my head like some sort of gouache mural, my troubled head, my troubled soul. Right now I want to slam that troubled head right into a flat, blunt surface. The pain begins, it resonates within my skull. I don't really need to bash it into anything because it hurts all the time anyways. Suffering is an old friend, I almost feel lonely when it's not around. Is that wrong? Life has made me the most disappointed person I've ever had the displeasure of being. This is the worst dream I've ever had, and when it's not terrifying it's hellishly boring. There has yet to be any respite. Everyone I see siphons the will right out of me, and I feel my brain leak right out the oval window.